


Begin Again

by Salamon2



Series: Return of the Direwolves [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Butterfly Effect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Gen, Not A Fix-It, Warging, actions have consequences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 20:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 36,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1442455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salamon2/pseuds/Salamon2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the end of A Dance with Dragons, the minds of the four youngest Stark children are sent back into their bodies at the very beginning of A Game of Thrones. Now the four youngest Stark children must cope with a return to the safety and family they lost, while the older members of the family slowly realize just how much the youngest ones have changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rickon I

_ 298 AL - The First Day -- The Day of the Prologue _

 

**RICKON**

 

When Rickon awoke the first thing he felt was the lack of the warm heartbeat he had fallen asleep listening to. Shaggydog was gone--this was not strange to the young boy, as it was oft the case that the wolf rose before Rickon did to stalk out of the hut and hunt among the rough cliffs of Skagos. However as Rickon began to sit up he found he wasn't laying on the ground in a bed of straw and furs, but instead was laid out in a small bed lifted off the ground, in a room which all at once looked vaguely familiar and yet strangely alien to him. The room was circular in shape, with walls made of gray stones laid on top of one another. A thick wooden door stood across from his bed, so unlike the furs that had protected Osha, Shaggy and him from the bitter cold winds on Skagos. Two small openings in the wall also adorned the room, allowing the milky-white mid-morning sunlight to peer into the otherwise darkened room. The room was ornamented with a few objects that were at once old and new to Rickon's mind but for which he couldn't think to name--a place to store the furs he wore, a place to put the objects which he valued most, and so on and so forth. A small wooden wolf was laying next to him on the bed with a few bite marks on the wolf's tail and ears--and looking at the wolf made him want to stick it in his mouth and chew--which he obliged, instantly feeling a small sense of satisfaction.

 

Osha must have moved them in the night, Rickon figured, and she would soon return, he was confident. As if to confirm his confidence the door to the room then opened and in stepped an old crone. She was a short shrunken figure, clearly weather-beaten and long past the prime of life.

 

"Good morrow Master Rickon, it is time to rise and break your fast," tutted the old woman in a high and wheezy sing-songy voice.

 

"Where's Osha?" asked Rickon as he took the slobbery wooden wolf out of his mouth to speak. He was almost shocked at how his voice sounded different than he'd last heard it, he couldn't explain how--it just struck his ears as undeniably different.

 

"Who, milord?"

 

"Osha," replied the boy as if the name were self-evident enough.

 

"I recall not any nursemaid by that name in all my time here at Winterfell."

 

Winterfell. That was the name of his home that Osha would sometimes talk to him about when they curled around the fire in their hut. Immediately Rickon rose and padded his feet across to the openings in the wall--windows--was the word he had failed to recall earlier. Peering out Rickon could see a muddy patch of ground and grass surrounded by stone walls, with people milling about. Was this the castle of Winterfell that Osha had told him all about--where kneelers lived and knelt to his brothers?

 

"Master Rickon?" questioned the old woman, but Rickon didn't answer--too quickly wondering how he had got there and wishing to have Shaggydog and Osha by his side.


	2. Alayne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alayne Stone wakes up in Winterfell.

**ALAYNE**

 

When Alayne awoke she was shocked at first to find herself in her old rooms in Winterfell as Sansa. Shocked at first, but then when she thought of the occasional dreams she indulged herself, thought for it to just be a pleasant homesick dream and that as soon as she stood the castle walls would turn to snow and a gigantic foot and booming voice of young Lord Robert would come leaving them a ruin. So Alayne--to enjoy the sweet delights of Sansa's memory--decided to stay a bed for some time and enjoy the rustle and bustle of a busy courtyard below.

 

It wasn't long before a knock was heard at the door and in entered a woman she'd doubted she'd ever see again, her mother.

 

"Sansa, what are you doing a bed at this hour? It's time to come down to the Great Hall and break your fast."

 

Alayne couldn’t bring herself speak, too scared of disturbing the dream, but when it became obvious a reply was expected, she simpered a demure "Yes, m--mother"--which sounded awfully different to her ears.

 

Lady Stark seemed to take this as an acceptable answer and took pains to lay out a dress of her choosing for Sansa to wear. Alayne remembered it well--it was one of Sansa’s favorites--a delightful light blue dress that had begun to not fit Sansa right around her chest just as she was leaving Winterfell. That was why Sansa had left it behind on her journey south to King's Landing. After this her mother began to leave the room, but was stopped as her hand gripped the metal latch to the door with a strong hug which came from Sansa, not Alayne.

 

Lady Stark, obviously surprised at the amount of affection her daughter showed in this moment, clucked that she well appreciated the hug, but had things to attend to. So with an endearing kiss on the top of Alayne's head, she took her leave of her room.

 

Alayne then dressed herself, asking for help only with the ties in the back from a maid who'd been passing at precisely the right moment. The dress still fit too tightly around her chest, but she did not mind it--after all, that's how it had felt the last time she'd worn it, and she figured her dream must have been recalling the memory. After pulling on her boots Alayne quickly took stock of her reflection in her Myrish hand glass. It most definitely was a dream--for her hair had returned to its Tully color of auburn. There was also something noticeably different about her face--it looked smaller and slightly more confined than she remembered it--but no matter, it was just a dream.

 

Alayne then exited her room and left the Great Keep. As she crossed the courtyard for the Great Hall she couldn't help but notice that Winterfell looked exactly the way she remembered it. She soaked it all in radiantly so much that she knocked right into her bastard brother completely unawares.

 

Suddenly overwhelmed at the sight of her half-brother, Sansa broke through her initial shock and Alayne’s indecision at how to act, and embraced him in a rather tight grip.

 

"Oh, Jon... I'm so sorry." Thoughts of the barely audible whispers from servants in the Eyrie, of being passed over and ignored by others, and of cruel japes about her probable birth by a whore of a mother in her father's employ, ran through her mind. This was what it was like to be a bastard, and from that experience she was so sorry that Jon had to endure it.

 

"You have not anything to apologize for, Sansa" replied Jon in obvious confusion.

 

Sansa replied with a near sob, peering up at his bemused face from his shoulder that she'd rested her head on, "Oh but I do. All this time I never knew how horrible people must have treated you. I'm sorry."

 

After the apology that she'd never known she'd wanted to give, until she'd seen him once again, was finished, Sansa then asked her bewildered brother if he'd broke his fast yet. After learning he hadn't she then asked if he'd sup with her--which he speechlessly accepted, regaining some of his solemn demeanor as he did. It was then that she resolved the next time she saw her half-brother to do as much as she'd done here in her dream. It felt like it was only the right thing, and it lifted such a heavy weight on her heart that she'd hardly known had existed.

 

Sansa later smiled as she, Jon, and a groggy Robb broke their fast late in the morning and japed with one another in a Great Hall in the midst of it being cleaned by servants. It was a happy scene of a happy dream, if only it were still possible, Sansa thought.


	3. No One I

**NO ONE**

 

This had to be a test--a sick perverted unfair test, but a test nonetheless. Izembaro and the Kindly Man must have employed a wizard of some kind to cast illusions to test her resolve as an apprentice. It was the only answer that made any sense as to why she was now standing in the middle of Winterfell.   
  
Well this was one test No One was determined to pass. She figured the purpose of the test must be to see if she was finally willing to abandon all dreams of Arya Stark. And what better way to do this than to offer Arya's most secret desire? Her home and her family. It was a cruel, cruel test--but it was one she would pass. She would not engage with the shadows of Arya’s father, mother, sister, and brothers--they were all dead and rotten and not returning. She would instead watch and learn what she could, reflecting on how to kill the dreams of Arya Stark and truly become No One for once and for all.

 

At meals she'd sit apart from the dead shadows, and when spoken to she'd keep her answers to only the most necessary of communications, often choosing to simply ignore the speaker and walk away. What hurt the small remnant of the girl whose dream this all was was when that girl's half-brother asked No One what was wrong. That was the most difficult part of the test, but she'd steeled her heart to the boy's pleas for her attention and walked away like all the others. He wasn't there--he was frozen at the Wall she told herself, and likely to die there--if not dead already.


	4. Bran I

BRAN

Bran knew immediately something was wrong when he felt his right foot was cold from sticking off the bed--and was shocked when his leg had upon his desire, returned to the warm enclave formed by the furs under which he'd slept.

At first he thought it was a vision, but upon rising and walking about his room, and purposely kicking his foot into his bed and stubbing his toe, he quickly determined that no--it was no vision and indeed no dream. He had not only returned to Winterfell, but he'd recovered use of his legs. But then he began to wonder if not Bloodraven had been a dream. Quickly throwing on some breeches, a tunic, and a leather jerkin over his smallclothes, he stepped into his boots and rushed out the door of his chambers. 

The sun had already risen and the day was just beginning. Barely anyone was up and moving about the courtyard at this hour. For once appreciating the use of his legs he ran about the courtyard, ecstatic for no other reason than being able to run. He would not take for granted his legs ever again, this he vowed along with to henceforth being more cautious with his climbing. Sneaking into the kitchens, Bran broke his fast there and then eagerly ran out to climb one of the more sturdy walls of the castle that wasn't so high that if he fell he'd lose his legs again--or for the first time, he imagined. Doing so reminded him of the last time he'd climbed and how Summer had whined and whimpered at the foot of the Broken Tower--the last thing he had remembered of that day. But that had been part of his dream. This was reality, right?

Thinking of Summer allowed his mind momentarily to slip from himself and his climb. And in an instant he felt to be in a warm place--a relaxing heartbeat soothingly keeping time. He couldn't see anything--it was like his eyes were glued shut. He could only hear the heart, and feel the warmth, surrounded at once by his pack and a presence he'd never known before... to whom that heartbeat belonged.

The vision had been swift but meaningful, enough for him to reconsider any more climbing. Sitting down at the foot of the wall he mulled over the vision. He hadn't warged into Summer. Summer had been a part of his dream... and yet to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him, he tried yet again to touch the mind of Summer--and once again found him in the dark, warm, soothing place--where time seemed to lose all meaning outside of keeping a steady beat for the heart. In what felt like a few moments, but could have been as long as a few minutes or hours later, he felt himself being shaken and he returned to his human body and looked up to see his father standing above him.

"Are you all right, my son?" There was clearly a taut and tense worry in his father’s grey eyes.

"Yes father. I was only thinking."

This answer did not seem to satisfy Eddard, who then knelt down to Bran’s level and felt his forehead with his leathery and well callused hands.

"You're a bit warm. I think you should see Maester Luwin."

Bran obligingly rose, but paused for a moment after he had. He was unsure of whether he really wanted to see the old Maester, until his father took his hand in his, to have him follow to the Maester's Turret above the kitchens.


	5. Robb I

 

_ 298 AL - The First Day - Later that Evening _

 

**ROBB**

 

Robb and Jon had excused themselves early from supper, and taken to walking in the Godswood--hoping to be alone to speak in private. Jon had given him the look which he knew all too well meant he had something important to talk about.

 

 _‘Damn his hide for choosing tonight,’_ thought Robb. Theon had been talking about possibly sneaking him out of the castle to visit a certain brothel, and Robb had been curious about the experience enough to desire to tag along. But that would have to wait for another night.

 

“What is it Snow?” asked Robb with a more than obvious discontented half groan and half sigh. He was still slightly miffed they’d left before desert had been served.

 

Jon, like he usually did, went straight to the point by saying, “Something’s wrong with Sansa and Arya.”

 

Robb looked at him incredulously, as if waiting for him to say more, but when he didn’t he said, “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

 

“Haven’t you noticed something is off about them? Arya’s avoiding everyone--she wouldn’t even talk to me and Sansa… Sansa actually apologized to me.”

  
“What for?”  
  
“About how she’s been treating me… you know, ever since your lady mother told her that I wasn’t _hers_.”

“About time,” mumbled Robb with some obvious irritation on the subject. Jon Snow was his brother that he knew to be true, it didn’t matter that their mothers weren’t the same. The same Stark blood ran through both their veins, and more than once Robb had been irritated by how his mother, Sansa, and Theon all spoke down to him--though he hadn’t had the nerve to speak to any of them about it. So to hear that one of them was willing to change their mind--was long welcomed news.

 

“How is that a bad thing, though? I’d say she’s starting to grow up.”

 

“It just came out of the blue today. Yesterday she was still so awkward and formal, but today… the moment she saw me she hugged me and… quit looking at me like that, Stark.”

 

Robb’s containment of his grin, probably had failed by that point, so he continued with a slight laugh, “Is this all? You’re surprised that our sister can actually be loving when she wants to be?”  
  
“No just that her opinion switched so suddenly.”

 

“I’ll admit 'tis odd, but weirder things have happened.”

  
“What about Arya?”  
  
“So she’s a bit more moody of late--perhaps she’s taking a leaf out of your own book, Snow.”

 

“I refuse not to speak to anyone.”

 

“No, just most people.”

 

“It’s not her attitude though that really gets me… it’s what she said.”  
  
“Make up your mind now, I thought she said she didn’t talk to you?”

 

“She wasn’t talking to me; it was more like she was talking to herself.”

 

“What did she say?”

It was at that moment that Jon was interrupted by the calls of their youngest brother, Rickon, somewhere else in the Godswood.

 

“Osha… Shaggy!”

 

Jon and Robb shared a look of bewilderment for a moment, before Robb asked, “I thought Old Nan said Rickon was sick in bed?”

 

Jon silently agreed with him, but then tilted his head to indicate that they should check it out. As they approached their brother, they continued to hear him mournfully call out for those two names once again. What was his little brother looking for? Were they part of some kind of fever made delusion?  
  
The youngest Stark had settled down next to an inky black pool of water so still it reflected what little moonlight reached its surface as well as Myrish glass. The trees in this part of the Godswood were thicker and thus a more solemn and somber mood was strewn about. Rickon collapsed on the edge of the pool, obviously sobbing. Jon and Robb, thanks to the thick moss and heather which covered the ground, managed to silently approach their brother without notice and sit on either side of the obviously troubled little boy.

 

As they did so, Robb thought he heard their brother say, “They left… now I’m all alone…”

 

“Who left you?” asked Jon--which startled their toddler brother. Like an animal that had just spotted a hunter, Rickon’s head flew up immediately and stared at Jon--then he turned his head and saw Robb. Robb smiled at his little brother and tried to make him feel better by pulling him into a hug. However Rickon struggled against his grasp, eventually resorting to biting Robb’s hand in order to escape his reach.

 

“No… you both left me… you both left! Shaggy! Shaggy where are you?!” wailed the boy as he immediately rose and began to run away from the two of them. Jon however managed to grab him by the arm.

 

“Let go of me!” said Rickon before attempting to bite Jon as well.

 

Jon countered by pulling the squirming toddler further into his grasp and scolding him for biting: “Oh, no, you’re not going to bite me too. Think not of trying to pull that trick twice!”

 

Rickon stopped struggling at this, instead settling for a glare at Jon as he took large deep breaths--whether they were out of anger or he was catching his breath after struggling, Robb didn’t want to venture a guess. What really shocked him was when the breaths took a low guttural sound that was more like a growl by a feral dog, than anything he’d heard before.

 

“W--what’s wrong, Rickon?” asked Robb to try and distract their brother, and hopefully calm him down.

 

“You left! Both of you left and never came back! I want Shaggy! Shaggy!” shouted their brother once again at them both as he struggled yet again to get free of Jon’s grasp.

 

“Shaggydog isn’t here, Rickon.” interrupted a girl’s voice--Robb turned to see their sister Sansa standing on the other side of the small pool. Apparently whatever she had said about this ‘Shaggydog’ immediately caught his attention, and Rickon completely forgot that his brothers were there and instead focused all of his attention on Sansa.

 

“Where did he go?” bemoaned the toddler.

 

Sansa responded with a smile that Robb had never seen her give to anyone. It was an obviously forced smile that seemed far too sweet to Robb. She then walked around to their side of the pool, and motioned for Rickon to come to her, which he gladly did. Sansa then picked him up and held him with such experience that Robb could hardly believe that this was the same sister who spent most of her days japing with Jeyne Poole about knights, damsels, and lemon cakes.

 

Once he was securely in her arms, and leaning on her nearly nonexistent hips, Sansa then chose to answer the curious toddler.

 

“You know how wolves like it not to be caged up. They like to roam free, hunt, and run wild. Shaggy, went out to hunt. He’ll be back soon, sweetling.”

 

Sweetling! Sansa had never in her life called Rickon sweetling! A holy terror, the boy who ruined all her things, name something vexing and she’d have been sure to have said it about their youngest brother. However here was a Sansa that Robb had never seen, an almost motherly figure. Gone was the silly girl, and the reality left him perplexed.

 

“But he’s been out hunting all day, and I--I can’t see him. Even when I try--”

 

“He’ll come back. You know that Rickon, doubt that not,” said Sansa as she laid his tired head against her shoulder and began to soothingly rub his back--their wild brother obligingly slowly closing his eyes and drifting off to a light sleep--exhausted from having fought with his brothers.

 

“Sansa--” began Jon after Rickon had quieted down.  
  
Sansa however place a finger over her mouth and she took their brother quietly back through the woods, humming as she went.

 

When some distance had been made, Robb and Jon both looked to one another in shock.

 

“You’re right. Something’s different about, Sansa” admitted Robb.

 

“Rickon too…” added Jon, and both agreed without speaking that they had to find out what had led to this change in their siblings, somehow.


	6. Eddard I

**EDDARD**  
  
Bran had at first seemed hesitant to come with him to see Maester Luwin, but after taking his hand, his son had complied well enough. The Maester lived in a small keep above the kitchens. The main room of his keep served as a study, impromptu ward, and lecture hall, with his own apartments on the floor above. Eddard found the Maester in that very same main room, looking through a large thick book with a hand glass to examine the plant pressings inside.

 

“Lord Eddard, what is your trouble?” asked the old Maester as he looked up from his work.  
  
“I need you to examine Bran for me.”

 

“I feel fine, father.” protested Bran, rather pointedly.

 

“What’s brought this worry upon you?”

 

Eddard gave his old Maester a look that meant he’d rather not discuss it in front of Bran, and so the Maester put aside his questions and took a quick examination of the lad.  
  
“His rather warm and I like not the look of that runny nose, and the throat seems slightly inflamed, but it’s just a typical Summer cold, milord--nothing to worry yourself over.”

 

It was then that Eddard led the Maester out of the room to discuss with him what he had seen. Once they had shut the door, Maester Luwin gave

 

“Would you mind explaining to me why you needed me to create an excuse to look him over and you couldn’t say what you need to in front of the lad, Eddard?”

 

“I didn’t want to scare my son. When I found him in the courtyard, he was crumpled against the wall as though he’d fallen, his eyes all gone white, and his body trembling like I ne’er seen before. I almost thought he was close to death--but then after I shook him, he seemed to snap out of it and appear fine.”

 

“Indeed! That is a strange tale to be sure.” tutted Luwin as he appeared to be drawn deeper into thought at Eddard’s words. He struck Eddard to be far away in thought for a several moments before Eddard felt obliged to continue his response.

 

“I couldn’t bring him to Cat. She would never forgive me if anything happened to any of our children--especially Bran. You know how she favors the boy.”

 

“Aye, you did good bringing him here, but to be honest with you, Ned, I think not the lad has any lasting damages, if he did indeed fall. He’s a fine hale boy as far as I’m concerned. Are you sure you saw what you saw? I know you’ve been getting less sleep than you should--your solar has been going through far too many candles as of late. Leave some for the rest of us,” scolded Maester Luwin with a slightly playful tone.

 

“It may have been just that, but I could have sworn…”

 

“Get some sleep, my lord quiet wolf, and later you can--”

 

However whatever Eddard could do later, he completely forgot to ask, as when they’d returned to the Maester’s main room, they found both a boy missing, and the window left wide open.

 

“As I said milord--the lad is hale and healthy." said Maester Luwin with a chuckle as Eddard looked out the window to see that Bran had obviously climbed out and down the keep to the ground, where he now had landed on his two feet.

 

"Bran! What are you doing?" called Eddard down to his son. _Why is he doing this?_

 

Bran gave a fearful look to his father and then without explanation took off for the Hunter's gate--which had been let open earlier for Jory and Ser Rodrick's early morning hunt.


	7. Jon I

**JON**

 

Jon was used to being called a bastard and treated as such. It was all he knew and all he could expect to know if he didn’t wish to become a sellsword in Essos like he had fancifully wished when younger. So when his younger half-sister came to him, hugged him, and apologized for never realizing just how horrible people could be to a bastard, he could hardly believe she was the same sister who awkwardly referred to him as her “half-brother” if she felt like being polite about the subject. In fact as he sat here breaking his fast with her and Robb, he could hardly believe she was the same person. She seemed more at ease around him and included him and made a point to include him equally with her japes at Robb’s expense. He unfortunately was still a little too hung-over from the night before. They sat close together at the end of a table, with Jon sitting in the corner and both of his siblings sitting on either side of him. Elsewhere in the Great Hall, Tyla, a maid, was wiping down the other end of the table, and Thedric was replacing the candles which had been spent the previous night.

  
“I see you sneaked a bit too much ale last night” tutted Sansa lightheartedly.

 

“The flask was just sitting there, getting warm, it needed to be drunk.”

 

“It was more than a flask,” Jon added, almost under his breath.

 

“Was it? How much did he drink them, Jon?”

 

Jon? Something was definitely off.

 

“It was more like three. He just doesn’t know when to stop.”

 

“Two and a half--you helped me with the first one. After that, the rest went down like water,” conceded Robb with a discontented growl.

 

“Did you, Jon? Oh, what would _father_ say?” teased Sansa with a slight grin.

 

Jon, feeling far more like he was almost japing with Robb alone, decided to answer her by deepening his voice and giving them the best impression of their father that he could.

 

“This is not the kind of behavior I expect from a future lord or a man of the Night’s Watch.”

 

Robb couldn’t help sniggering into his own porridge at that moment, and Sansa--seemed at once to be both amused and surprised. The mixture of emotions which cascaded across her face seemed to be explained when she finally said, “You look so like father sometimes…”

 

It was then she grew somewhat melancholy and withdrawn, and Jon wondered if perhaps he’d pushed too far with this new openness with his sister. However she quickly broke through the sour note and she chidingly pushed a pitcher of water towards Robb, her dower mood completely having evaporated oddly enough. That too was odd; Sansa wasn’t prone to such quick changes in thoughts and behavior. Usually she was like her mother in that she had a hard time letting things go, but now she seemed merry enough, even taking it upon herself to refill Jon’s cup of water. Something was definitely different, but what had caused this shift in his sister, he didn’t know what.

 

Their meal came to an end when Jory, Ser Rodrick, and Bran entered the hall, saying that it was time to begin their morning drills. Sansa then took her leave and left in the direction of the small Sept. Bran, Jon noticed, seemed to be lost in thought, and was disheveled as though he’d been running through some underbrush, but beyond that didn’t appear too much out of character until later. As they were practicing swords, Jon occasionally took his eyes from his spar with Robb to look at how Bran fared with one of Ser Rodrick’s squires. Though Bran was obviously still learning to wield a wooden practice sword, he seemed to have lost most of his interest in sparring. His body went through the motions and drills that he’d been taught, but his mind seemed distracted and elsewhere.

 

While Jon pondered this, Robb took advantage of this distraction to whack the side of his head with the flat of his practice sword. Causing Jon to swear in pain and bring his hand up too late to protect the tender spot.

 

“I could’ve had your head then, Snow!” chided Robb

 

Jon gave his excuses to his brother and decided to wash his face in the water trough near the stables--hoping the cool of the water would ease the heat of the pain bothering his left temple. When he looked up, he caught Arya standing along the wall of the courtyard, in a shadow, obviously trying hard not to be seen, and not succeeding that well. Jon looked back to see Robb now engaged in a spar with one of Ser Rodrick’s older squires and decided to have a chat with his favorite sister, whom he had not seen all morning.

 

“You can’t spend all day hiding here in the shadows away from the Septa,” chided Jon as he approached his sister. Arya looked at Jon, and suddenly her grey eyes grew wide with emotion. She then shook her head, regaining her unreadable stony expression that she’d had before and then turned to walk away from Jon.

 

Jon, surprised at his little sister’s reaction, called after her, eventually following her as she walked further away from the stables and the practice yard.  
  
“Arya, what’s wrong?” asked Jon at long last.

 

It was then he heard her mumble to herself, “He’s not here. He’s frozen at the Wall, either dead or dying”. Hearing Arya say such a thing, even to her, shocked Jon to the point where he allowed Arya to escape as he tried to come to terms with what he had just heard.

 

Sansa clearly wasn’t the only one who was different--Arya had changed as well. Something very definitely was wrong, but what that was, Jon couldn’t begin to guess.


	8. Catelyn I

**CATELYN**  
  
After Robb and Jon Snow had left the Great Hall, Arya herself had left not long after, and Sansa--ever the only one with good table manners--politely finished her meal before being asked to be excused. Bran was the only one left at the table, seeming to take little interest in his food, instead moving it from one side of the plate to the other, trying to avoid eating it, oddly emulating her lord husband at the moment--or perhaps the reverse were true. Since Bran sat at the other end of the table, Catelyn decided to talk to Ned to see if she could discover what was bothering her two men.  
  
“What’s wrong, Ned?”

 

“Nothing,” replied Ned with his typical icy tone, that Catelyn had learned in all their years of marriage actually meant something was actually troubling the man. By the seven, the man could be stubborn.  
  
“Something is troubling you. Tell me.”

 

Ned then looked up towards Bran, he then gruffly told him that if he was finished his dinner he was dismissed from the table. After Bran had left, Ned’s rough exterior diminished as though he were taking off a mask.

 

“It’s nothing, Cat--I’m worried about the news from the Wall.”  
  
“Is it the wildlings again?”

 

“They’ve picked up their raiding. A party has been sent out to track the latest group after it retreated back behind the wall. There’s talk of a King beyond the Wall.”  
  
“A King beyond the wall? I thought wildlings didn’t kneel to anybody.”

 

“There’s talk, Cat. Not much more than that.”  
  
And with that said, her lord husband ended the conversation, rising to leave, but still with a troubled face. Catelyn ordered the servants to begin their clearing of the great hall, and took her leave of the building to return to the Great Keep. She hadn’t seen her baby boy Rickon all day--Old Nan had met her this morning saying that her baby wasn’t well this morning and saying it was nothing serious that a good day’s rest a bed. Catelyn, occupied with meeting with the head cook to discuss which meats would last the fortnight, had at the time agreed with Old Nan that that was the best course of action, resolving to visit her poor sick Rickon later in the afternoon, and told the cook to have food be sent up to the nursery. Then one of the squires had accidentally broken a window in the armory, and Cat had had to speak with Maester Luwin about sending a raven to Wyman Manderly about seeing if any merchants from Myr had recently been in White Harbor selling glass. And after that Mikan had approached her saying that he would like permission to advertise to the nearby smallfolk of his need for an apprentice. Catelyn agreed but then had to speak to the head maid about seeing if there was an extra cot that could be moved into the smithy. There were a million other little tasks that all day popped up which she had to take care of that by the end of the day; Catelyn had not found the time to visit her poor sick baby. She now resolved to visit him in his rooms, but to her surprise she found as she came to the entrance of the Great Keep, that Sansa was entering the keep holding a tired Rickon. Catelyn was shocked at first to see Sansa take such an interest in the boy. Why just yesterday the girl had come demanding that the “little monster” as she’d referred to him, should be locked up because he had gotten sticky jam handprints all over her green dress. And yet, here was her daughter, nurturing her holy terror of a brother and acting as a woman grown.

 

It was at that moment that Catelyn realized that her daughter was growing up. That dress looked rather tight around her chest, and exposed the barest hint of her ankle. It would soon be time to propose a betrothal for her, and in a few years perhaps Sansa would be doing this not for her brother, but for a babe of her own. Not wishing to disturb the scene, Catelyn followed the two in utter silence, pride in her daughter and wistful nostalgia for the sweet babe she’d been welling up in her heart. Sansa saw her when they came to the nursery where Rickon still slept--and at that moment Sansa looked as though she thought that Catelyn might want to take Rickon from her, but Cat instead motioned for Sansa to continue on into the nursery. There Sansa laid the little boy who was groggy down on his tiny bed, and Catelyn and Sansa undressed the boy and left him in a shift and tucked him in together. As they then were about to leave, Rickon whimpered and sat up.

 

“Sansa… I want Shaggy…” moaned Rickon

Sansa responded by saying, “He’ll be here in the morning baby brother, now try and get some sleep.”

 

“I want not to…”

 

“Yes, you do, you ought to be tuckered out after playing with Robb and Jon.”

 

At the sound of the bastard’s name, a slight chill went through Catelyn, but she suppressed her sudden wish to interrogate further, less she disturb the sweetest scene she’d ever witness between Sansa and Rickon. By this point Sansa had managed to convince Rickon to lay down in exchange for Sansa singing a lullaby. As soon as the first words were sung, Catelyn’s heart stopped--it had been the same lullaby her brother and sister had always pestered her to sing after their mother had died. She’d grown so tired of singing the song, that Catelyn didn’t recall ever singing it to Sansa or any of her children. And besides it was a Riverlands lullaby, not a lullaby of the North.

 

_“Close your eyes, and go to sleep._

_Feel the rock of the boat, the waves do keep._

_And as the current swiftly sweeps,_

_drift down the river, and go to sleep._

_If we come to a waterfall,_

_fear you not or tremble at all._

_Mother shall come, so do not fret,_

_You'll be safe and sound by the riverbed.”_

 

Sansa finished the lullaby by humming the first half of it as she slowly eased away from Rickon’s bed, blew out the candles in the room, and joined Catelyn at the door.

 

Catelyn’s eyes were misty at the sound of the song, thinking of whether she had looked as such when she had sung to her siblings, and she regretted having ever growing tired of the song. Once they had shut the door to the nursery, Catelyn then asked if she could speak to her privately, her voice trembling with emotion. They quickly climbed the keep to Sansa’s room, and Catelyn offered to brush out her daughter’s hair. Sansa looked overjoyed at such a proposal and sat in her chair, and Catelyn took the brush and expertly began to brush.

 

“I’m so proud of you, Sansa.”

 

“Thank you, mother.”

 

“You’re almost a woman grown, soon you’ll be a lady and it’ll be time to find you a worthy knight.”

 

Sansa’s response confused Catelyn, it was mumbled, as though she expected not Catelyn to hear it, “I’d rather not.”

 

However Catelyn did not have long to ponder the meaning of these words as she pulled a knot amongst her daughter’s hair. This caused Sansa to wince in pain for a moment, but then suddenly to freeze in shock. She was silent for a moment, with that look of utter shock still left on her face.

  
“Sansa?” asked Catelyn, and her daughter quickly turned to face her.

 

“Mother, am I actually here?” her fearful eyes suddenly betraying the girl she still was.

 

“Of course you are sweetling. Where else would you be?”


	9. Rickon II

**RICKON II**

 

When Rickon awoke the following morning he was at first sad to find Shaggydog wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and further surprised to find his sister Sansa sitting at the end of his bed. She was much different than she’d been the night before--gone was her warm smiles, and instead a look of pained worry

 

“R--Rickon, I have a few questions to ask of you.”

 

“Where’s Shaggy? You said Shaggy would be here this morning!”  
  
“He’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m sorry Rickon, I know not where Shaggy is.”  
  
“But he’ll be back, right?”

 

“He probably will. What do you remember about meeting Shaggydog?”

 

“Bran gave him to me, in the kitchens! He was so small then he could sit in my lap! And his eyes were closed.”

 

Sansa nodded her head, her face at once seeming to ease and yet grow increasingly worried.

 

“Do you remember what happened next?” asked his sister.

 

Rickon tried really hard to think about what had happened after Shaggy had come, but everything was a blur in his head until, “A big fat man came. Shaggy wanted to chase him!”

  
This made Sansa laugh before she responded, “The King--father’s friend. And later, what happened to Bran? After the king came?”

 

Rickon again felt like he really had to try to remember back that far, but soon he remembered laying on a bed next to Bran who wouldn’t wake up. Summer and Shaggy at the foot of the bed, looking worried, and a lady--his mama!--crying in a chair. “Bran fell… and he slept for a really long time. Mama was sad, Summer was sad, I was sad, and Shaggy too!”

 

Sansa nodded her head again and then continued with, “And then?”

 

“And then…” and suddenly Rickon remembered. Everyone had left. “You left! You left me! Everyone leaves me! First Papa, then you, then Arya, then Jon, then Mama, then Robb, then Bran, then Osha, and now Shaggy!”

 

Sansa lowered her head, not meeting his eyes as she said, “Yes, Rickon I left, and I’m sorry.”

 

This admission caught Rickon off guard. Robb and Jon hadn’t said anything like it when he told them that they’d left, but Sansa was different. He sniffled slightly as he said, “You’re sorry?”

 

“Yes, Rickon, I’m sorry I left you.” Sansa looked up, tears forming in the edge of her eyes.

 

“You won’t leave me again?” urged Rickon.

 

“Not if I can help it, baby brother.”

 

And Rickon hugged her tightly, not wishing to ever let go.

 

“Promise?” he sobbed.  
  
“As best I can.” replied his sister as she soothingly rubbed his back.  
  
“Promise!” insisted Rickon, holding on to her as tightly as he could.

 

She answered with a queer tremble to her voice, “I--I promise, Rickon. The seven help me, I promise” She then wrapped her own arms around him, and for the first time in a long time, Rickon felt safe.


	10. Robb II

**ROBB II**  
  
Jon and Robb had spent most of the night in his room arguing about how to approach their wayward sisters and baby brother. Jon had sat quietly on a chair while Robb had paced back and forth the length of the room.  
  
Rickon, they both agreed, was too volatile to approach again—either of them was likely to have to end up wrestling the wild toddler and neither wished to be bit or scratched by his sharp baby teeth and nails.  
  
Arya was the wild card, but Robb was confident enough that together they could crack her tough shell eventually.  
  
This of course left Sansa. After the performance of the Mother that Sansa had given, Robb really wanted to get to the bottom of her change most of all. And so they spent most of the early morning before breaking their fast searching for their red-haired sister. However she wasn’t in her rooms, which marked them both as rather odd. After searching there they then thought long and hard of where else in the castle she might have gone. They tried the Sept, the Godswood, the crypt, the kitchens, and even the armory before consigning to their rather starving stomachs—all right his stomach, Jon wasn’t much in the mood for food he said—plea for nourishment and ending their search in the Great Hall to break their fast.

 

“I understand it not, I thought for sure she’d have been in the Sept” muttered Jon still perturbed that they hadn’t found her. His summer wheat mash barely touched.

 

“I’m shocked she wasn’t in the kitchens” added Robb.

 

Jon rolled his eyes and rebuffed him, saying, “Only you would think she’d go there. Sansa always picked at her food like a little bird, as though she weren’t ever eager to eat more than a tiny portion. The kitchens would be the last place she’d go.”

 

With his mouth partially full, Robb slyly commented, “You know so much about our sister then, do you? I thought she only started talking to you yesterday.”

 

Jon became even graver, too solemn for Robb’s liking, saying quite low and in a hushed tone, “When you’re the lone wolf you notice a lot more about your pack away from them than you do amongst them.”

 

The way Jon had said that irritated Robb. Jon wasn’t the lone wolf--he had him and all their brothers and sisters, not to mention their father! Robb met Jon’s eye and nearly growled, “Never doubt you’re part of the pack, Snow.”  
  
They finished the rest of their meal in silence--Robb hated to eat this way, but after that comment, he could feel that neither of them felt like talking, and both were more worried for their respective siblings. After having their fill, they left the Great Hall for one last search before changing for the practice yard when they came across Sansa crossing the courtyard.

 

“Sansa!” called Robb, causing Sansa to stop in her tracks, and turn to them with a slightly worried look upon her face, which melted as soon as she saw them. Robb thought that was weird but they caught up and he continued with, “Jon and I have a few questions we want to ask you about last night.”

 

“Last night?” asked Sansa, as though she had no idea what they were talking about.

 

“With Rickon,” added Robb.

 

She recomposed herself upon hearing Rickon’s name, saying, “Oh, he was just tired and needed to sleep is all. I put him to bed and he calmed down.”

 

“Who’s Shaggydog?” asked Jon, speaking for the first time.

 

Sansa gave a small laugh and then said, “Oh, uh… Shaggydog is just the name he’s given to that wooden wolf he’s been teething. Old Nan took that away from him yesterday and he’s been grouchy ever since.”

 

There was something about the way she spoke that made Robb doubt her words, they too easily tripped off her tongue with a little nervous laugh. Apparently his doubt appeared rather obvious to her as she chided him for it.

 

“And Osha?” asked Jon, his face betrayed nothing of whether he believed her or not.

 

“I have no idea what he’s talking about. Maybe it’s a person he created in his mind to ease how lonely he’s been. I mean none of us have been there to spend much time with him the past week or so,” said Sansa with a certain emphasis.

 

That last point, though said to both of them, Robb felt was purposely intended for him most of all. He was about to say something along the lines that he paid attention to all his siblings--but the words died before they left his mouth. The more he thought about it, the more she was right. He wasn’t as great of an older brother as he should be. He mostly spent his time with Jon and Theon, and sometimes Sansa herself—when she wasn’t giggling with Jeyne Poole that was. The younger ones never really had held much interest to him, most especially Rickon the babe. Had he made a mistake?

 

She cleared her throat in a ladylike manner and then said, “Now if that is all, I have to speak to the Septa--unless either of you would like to explain to her why she’d missed her lessons yesterday.”

 

As Sansa walked away, Robb couldn’t help but feel as though he’d just been scolded without actually being so, and he kicked the ground in frustration.

 

“What about Arya?” asked Robb moodily.

 

“If we can find her. She’s taken to hiding even more than Sansa has,” said Jon coolly.

 

“Let’s try every shadow--she’s got to be in one of them.”


	11. Bran II

**BRAN II** \- The First Day

 

After his father had left the room, Bran had quietly crept to the door to hear what his father would only say to the Maester alone. It made not any sense--why would his father think he were ill? And why would Maester Luwin say he had a Summer Cold when he had none of the symptoms? Through the door, Bran could hear his father say:  
  
“He was crumpled against the wall as though he’d fallen, his eyes all gone white, and his body trembling like I ne’er seen before. I almost thought he was close to death!”

 

Was that how he looked when he had tried warging into Summer? Meera hadn’t said he’d ever done that while warging before. But then again, he’d never asked either. What had happened? Had warging done something to him? A sudden headache began to overtake him as he thought about the warging he had done, causing his thoughts to feel scrambled, but he knew he needed to focus and so he forced himself to focus on what had happened.

 

The more he focused on warging, the more restless he felt. Bran needed to think, but he couldn’t do it here in this castle of stone and dead wood--even if it was his home. He needed to feel the dirt beneath his feet, hear the wind rustle through the trees, taste the blood of a fresh kill, and track the scent of a frightened hare. Where were the trees and dirt and mud? He looked around and saw nothing but dead wood and stone. But through a window he caught sight of a bunch of trees--a forest!--off in the near distance.  
  
Bran threw open the window and swiftly climbed the single story down the wall of the Maester’s Turret. Once he’d gotten to the ground, he heard his father call to him from above. But he still felt the need to go out and run through the underbrush. So with a parting glance to his father, he took off for the closest gate out of the castle--the hunter’s gate.

 

The Hunter’s Gate was named as such because it was the closest gate to open to the Wolfswood, and thus the easiest to leave by if one were desirous of taking a hunting party out. As he ran for the gate and drawbridge, Bran hardly thought about the ever distant cries of his father or the sleepy guards he dodged. His mind was focused--out there in the forest. He had to make it there, and then he could think clearly!

 

Once he was inside its boundaries, he didn’t let up until he came to a clearing. He was tired, and so he circled a few times and sat down amongst the ferns to pant and catch his breath. He felt a cool late summer breeze pick up and heard the wind rustle the pines and leaves of the mixed forest which made up the Wolfswood. Yes… it was here in the forest he belonged, not trapped behind tall walls of stone and dead wood.

 

Just then he heard a twig snap and Bran’s head jerked to the right to see a packmate--no, his pack mother!--standing on the edge of the clearing, staring at him. He called to her to come, the yelp sounding off to his ears--but it didn’t matter, as his pack mother tilted her head in slight confusion before slowly approaching him. She padded her way across the new damp leaves, pine needles, moss, and ferns to where he sat. She sniffed him, clearly confused as to why he smelt so familiar and yet so alien all at once. Finally she tentatively began to clean his face, as though to scold him for getting dirty. He laughed and whined as her rough tongue diligently found every nook and cranny of his face--tickling him behind his ears.

 

And then, suddenly, Bran became aware of himself again when he heard a familiar voice say:

 

“Shoot not! You could hit the boy!”

 

Bran then saw Jory and Ser Rodrick with a large dead stag being drug behind them. Ser Rodrick however was still knocking an arrow in his bow, despite Jory’s harried whisper.

 

“Run!” whispered Bran to the she-wolf. She looked once more confused for a moment before noticing the men at the edge of the clearing and swiftly bounded away, the arrow narrowly missing her as she did, and lodging itself in a tree.

 

Jory dropped the stag and immediately rushed upon Bran and picked him up, asking “Are you all right, my little lord?”

“Yes,” mumbled Bran in response.

  
“What were you thinking? That beast could’ve killed you, lad” added Ser Rodrick as he put away his arrow and picked up the stag which Jory had left.

 

“She wouldn’t have!” insisted Bran.

 

“She? Aye, she did look big in the belly, and her teats were hanging low. It’s the she-wolves you must be the most careful of,” concluded Jory.

 

“Let’s get you back to the castle, lad, before she decides to come back for this stag here.” said Ser Rodrick with a grunt as he adjusted the gigantic stag upon his shoulders.

 

Bran willingly left with them, shocked by what had just occurred. Why had he left the Maester’s room? Why had he come out here to the forest, alone? What had he been thinking! He recalled that he’d wanted to run, but why had his thoughts become so wolfish? It didn’t make any sense. Maybe it was a reaction to trying to war with Summer? But Summer hadn’t come--his pack mother…

 

And suddenly the only explanation flitted across his mind. He had somehow been sent to the past, before Summer and his pack had been born, before his father had left for King’s Landing, and before he’d fallen. That he could still warg, was proof enough that the future he remembered had still taken place--though why he’d had this reaction to it, he couldn’t explain.

 

But no sooner than he could ponder how such a thing were possible--for no tale told by Old Nan ever mentioned a situation like this--Jory, Ser Rodrick, and Bran had returned to the hunter’s gate where his father was on a horse with four other guardsmen, looking ready to ride out until one of the guards pointed to them, and his father’s eye caught their exiting the forest. His father was no sooner off his horse and by his side, taking him from Jory, than Ban had blinked. His father held him tight and close.

 

“Never do anything like that again! Do you understand me?” implored his father, looking directly into his eyes--no mask was on his father for this brief moment, his eyes full of fear and worry, and love. Then suddenly his father’s parental mask was back in place, as much as it had vanished and he added, “That’s not the way for a future knight to behave.”

 

“I want not to be a knight anymore,” Bran murmured meekly.

 

“Knight, lord, sellsword--it does not matter--none of them would ever behave in such a manner. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

A bit of good humor now entered his father’s voice along with relief, “Good, now let’s get you back inside, before your lady mother suspects that you even left.”  
  
“My lord, a word.” urged Ser Rodrick as he took the stag from his shoulders.

 

Father’s Lord Eddard mask returned, and he indicated with a nod for Ser Rodrick to continue.

 

“We came upon the boy in a clearing with a wolf nearby.”

 

“Nonsense! By the size of that beast, I’d say that thing had to be a direwolf, milord!”  
  
“A direwolf hasn’t been seen south of the wall in almost two centuries, Jory.” reminded Lord Eddard solemnly.  
  
“I’m only saying what I saw, milord. I swear by the gods!”

 

“Direwolf or no, I say we kill the beast. No one is safe with that monster on the prowl. She nearly had your boy.”

 

Bran felt his father’s grip on him tighten, and Bran immediately felt he had to intercede, but all he could say was, “No!”

 

“Tyrol, take the boy,” urged Lord Eddard with a nod to the closest mounted guard. Tyrol urged his horse forward and tried to pull Bran up onto his horse, but Bran slipped out of both Tyrol’s and his father’s grasp, and pulled on his father’s clothes to get his attention.

 

“No, father! You can’t kill her!” and suddenly a brief memory of what had gone before appeared in his mind. Yes, that was the way to argue, and so he continued with, “The direwolf is our House sigil! It would be an act against the gods to kill her!”

 

The weight of his pronouncement seemed to unsettle the guards and Jory. Ser Rodrick was nonplussed, but his father seemed caught on the argument, even if just for the moment, which was enough time to urge Bran to continue further.

 

“Leave her be! Mayhaps she brings good luck upon our house.”

 

His father seemed to ponder this for a moment, before turning to Jory and Ser Rodrick and saying, “What’s one wolf in a forest named for it?”


	12. No One II

NO ONE II

Either she hadn’t finished the test, or had yet to understand what Izembaro wanted from her as an apprentice. A second day in Arya Stark’s dream proved just as cruel as the first, if not more, because more shadows began to bother her. Septa Mordane had come to scold her about missing her lessons in needlework--but she was on a spike outside the red keep, her head rotting in that Southron wasteland called a capital. The shade of her mother had repeated much the same, even going so far as to drag her to her lessons. She stood in the dark corner of the room, despite the Septa’s urgings to try her hand at something from the poor basket at the very least if she did not wish to mend a shirt. The shade of Sansa, instead of joining the admonition of her instead pleaded on her behalf to instead find another subject, with which to occupy their time. The shades of Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel, both looked confused at their friend, who was joined by a reproving look from the Septa. This struck No One as rather odd, Arya Stark’s sister Sansa had never missed an opportunity to belittle her--Arya.

This was still a test, she could not falter. Mayhaps instead of withdrawing from these shades she had to denounce them for all time?

“I’ll never learn to sew!”

“La! Have you traded your wolf for a Kraken, then?” commented Beth Cassel

“Mayhaps she has a crush on Theon!” giggled Jeyne Poole conspiratorially.

“Nonsense, Lady Arya. It’s a skill well worth its weight in dragons! Why one day when you’re married and you have sons and daughters of your own, you’ll thank me for being as harsh as I am now and insisting you learn.”

“Perhaps she needs to learn away from people who might jest when she makes a mistake?” suggested Sansa.

“What’s come over you Sansa?” asked Jeyne

“We only jest in fun. You know we mean no harm, right Arya?” eased Beth.

If this were a test, then the wizard that had been employed had failed to create her--Arya’s sister right. She would never take her--Arya’s side against her twittering friends.

“You’re not Sansa! You’re just an illusion!” pronounced No One, and as quick as she could she hurried out the door, leaving the room behind her utterly confused.

No One avoided being seen and skipped the noontime meal. She wasn’t in the mood for eating, nor seeing the shades of her--Arya’s family. She was faltering. If she failed this test then she would have nowhere to go. The world wasn’t safe for Arya Stark, even in Essos.

She was lost in her thoughts enough that she didn’t notice the shadow of her--Arya’s brother Bran sneak up on her as she sat in the shadow of the Broken Tower near the entrance to the crypts.

“There a reason why you’re so quiet all of a sudden? I would force you not to tell me why. I only ask you to say if there is or not.”

No One looked at the shade of her--Arya’s younger brother. Here he was, before his fall, all health and the promise of a good life before him. This wasn’t Bran the Broken, as she--Arya had heard the royal servants jape. Unable to resist much further No One responded to the shade with a silent nod. Mayhaps she’d approached this test all wrong. Perhaps the test wasn’t one of denial, but instead one of putting past ghosts to rest--to end this chapter of her life so she could begin the next.

“Me too,” was all that Bran added.

“Bran… what was it like to die?”

Bran looked at her queerly for just a moment before smiling and responding, “Theon never killed me or Rickon.”

“You escaped?”

“Yes. And you did too?”

No One thought back to Arya’s story--seeing her father beheaded, Yoren telling her that she had to be a boy, meeting Gendry and Jaqen Hagar, Harrenhal… but it was too much to tell. So she simply nodded, and he understood, and a comfortable silence overtook them both, where neither felt like they had to say anything more. It was after a few moments of this silence had past that it was disturbed by the sound of Robb shouting.

“Jon! Come back here!”


	13. Jon II

**JON II**

 

He was going to kill Theon Greyjoy--there was no other way it could end.

 

Robb and Jon had skipped out on their sword practice with Jory and Ser Rodrick, feigning not feeling well. After giving the slip, both had then taken to searching, as Robb had put it “every shadow” for where Arya might be, eventually ending up exhausted, leaning against a wall behind the entrance to the crypts after an exhaustive search that had included traversing into the most unlikely of places for Arya to hide--the flooded lower levels of the crypt. Once it had grown too damp down there for their torch to hold a flame, they trudged back up to the surface and slumped where they currently were-- laying out their boots in the sun to dry and expose their wet and clammy feet in the same warm late summer sun. They had lain there almost on the verge of napping for a long stretch of time when they were disturbed by the sound of voices from nearby, coming from the broken tower. Jon edged his head around just so he could see who was talking, and to his surprise found Arya and Bran were together. Jon then shook Robb awake and with a finger to his mouth told him to be quiet as they both then strained to hear what was being said, Robb’s attention being earned when he heard Arya’s voice say:  
  
“Bran… what was it like to die?”

 

This confused and alarmed both Robb and himself, but they remained quiet for the moment, straining now to hear their brother’s response to this perplexing of questions.

 

“Theon never killed me or Rickon.”

 

Jon felt himself freeze in response. Theon had tried to kill Bran and Rickon? When? And he’d almost succeeded to the point where Arya had thought he’d died? That would explain why she was so moody, but how had no one noticed? How had father, let alone Lady Stark failed to notice an attack on the two smallest boys, but Arya had seen it? Perhaps that’s why Sansa was acting so motherly towards Rickon, and why Theon had yet to return from wherever it was he was hiding. Jon couldn’t stand it anymore, he couldn’t just sit here and allow that wretched kraken to continue to breathe, so he rose and made way for the Great Keep, hoping to find Theon in his room.

 

“Jon! Come back here!” called Robb as he strove to catch up to him.

 

“Try not to hold me back, Stark, I’m going to kill Greyjoy!”

 

“You know not what they meant!”

 

“I thought they spoke rather plainly, and it makes sense if you think about it. Greyjoy makes an attempt on Bran and Rickon--why, the gods only know. Sansa and Arya catch him in act, and he makes a sloppy job of it. It explains everything!”

 

“Theon would never harm them! He’s like another brother to them.”

 

“He’s a prisoner of father’s to ensure his father’s good behavior--or have you forgotten the Greyjoy Rebellion?”

 

“So you condemn him because of his father and disregard the man he’s become?”

 

“Speak not of Theon like you know him. To you, his equal, he’s all japes and fun, but to me… well I’m just a product of our father’s sleeping with a salt wife to him. I can’t go to the brothels, less I accidentally sleep with my mother!”

 

Robb didn’t respond to this, seeming conflicted and that’s what bothered Jon the most about Robb. He only saw what he wanted to see about people, he never took the bad with the good. Jon didn’t want to continue discussing Theon anymore. He wanted to choke the life out of the kraken and be done with it--once and for all. Jon turned and continued his

 

What stopped him from entering was when Robb said, “He’s not here.”

 

“Where is he then? Did he flee already to that godforsaken salt crag of an archipelago?”

 

“We were supposed to sneak out to go to a brothel last night… he hasn’t come back yet.”

 

Jon knew what that could only mean. He had meant to kidnap Robb last night, mayhaps take him back to Pyke and subject their father to the same torture his father had endured, pledging to kill his heir if he dared move against his reavers.

 

“Where are you going now?” asked Robb as Jon changed directions.

 

“The stables. I’m not giving Greyjoy any more of a head start back to Pyke if I can help it!”

 

“You’re forgetting something.”

 

“What?”

 

Robb tossed him his now sun-dried stiff boots, and he almost laughed as he had almost considered fighting that damned squid in his bare feet--let alone ride out in his stirrups. After slipping into his boots, Jon continued on his way to the stables, but now with Robb following behind him.

 

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Jon as they came to the stables.

 

“With you. You have not the strength alone to face him without getting yourself killed. Speed and nimbleness you have a plenty, but Greyjoy will overpower you without me there to protect you.” said Robb as he saddled his own horse.

 

“No, you should stay here. You’re to be the future lord, if he kills you--”

 

“Then I die. And Bran, mother’s favorite, gets to be your future lord.”

 

“She’ll blame me. Stay here.”

 

“I would willingly stay here, if you would. But we both know that’s not going to happen. So little brother, you’re going to have to put up with me for the ride, or aren’t you taking a horse?”

 

By this point Robb had finished saddling his road horse. Jon quickly set about catching up with his own. Robb laughing as he rose to his mount.

 

“You sure you want to dirty your hands with his blood?" asked Jon, after he finished saddling his horse, trying one last time to dissuade him to come.

 

"You're not the only one who cares, Snow! And how could I ever look father in the face again if I use you now as my headsman?" said Robb as Jon mounted his horse.

 

The two brothers shared a grim but warm smile and spurred their horses past the smithy and out the South Gate.


	14. Theon

**THEON**

 

 _‘Damn the storm god and his thunder for this pounding headache!’_ thought Theon as he entered through the North Gate. He had just spent the previous night enjoying the ale and company of two lovely whores instead of one. The one he’d reserved for Robb, who’d been too craven to come. Ahh, well, that just meant more for him—his loss. He’d spent his company with those lovely whores all until sunrise when he’d passed out, only having just awoken near an hour earlier so he could stumble his way back to Winterfell before the dinner hour. He’d hear an earful about honor from Lord Stark, and perhaps another about punctuality from his lady, but Theon didn’t care, well too much.  
  
Theon returned to his room in the Great Keep and took a swig of his sour tasting remedy for ale induced headaches. He hated its taste, but it would work its magic so that come supper none would be the wiser--except Robb, of course. Theon then changed his clothes and sponged what grime and dirt was on him off with a water basin and sponge. After having done so he pulled on over his smallclothes a clean pair of breeches, tunic, and a rather nice doublet. After cinching his belt around his waist he then stepped into his other pair of boots and took his leave of his room and attended to the Great Hall for the evening meal.

 

He was surprised to find he wasn’t the last to arrive, Robb and Jon were mysteriously absent. So Theon did not receive much rebuffing from either the lord or his lady on his tardiness. His presence however did seem to cause the rest of the table to stop eating. Arya glared at him. Bran was somehow uncomfortable with his presence, and with Sansa, well she was staring at him with eyes that seemed as disturbed as the sea which struck the shores of Pyke. It was however, the babe’s reaction which took everyone by surprise. No sooner had Theon taken his place at the table, than the toddler grabbed his fork and came running at him, stabbing him in the leg with the silver utensil. It was at that moment chaos erupted in the Great Hall as servants dropped serving platters, and Theon could only watch on in horror as the wild toddler continued to try to gore him, screaming as though he were a feral animal. Lord Stark and his lady immediately rose and called for the babe to stop. Arya seemed to enjoy looking on the scene, a weird sort of smile stretching upon her lips. Bran joined his father in trying to calm the insatiable beast, but Sansa was the only one to come over to the toddler and manage to wrangle him under some sense of control, prying the offending utensil out of his grasp. Rickon however had hardly achieved his task, beyond a few minor puncture wounds--which hurt like the Storm God Theon admitted--he had done more to ruin his breeches, than he had to injure him. Lord Stark however still advised that he seek the Maester’s care and so he quite willingly left the Great Hall with Lady Stark promising to send some food up to him after things had settled down.

 

Theon was simply glad to be out of the Great Hall--whatever madness had taken hold of the toddler had surely spread amongst the other Stark children, and he was loathe to be near them, less he too might go stark raving mad. Theon chuckled to himself, complimenting his clever turn of the phrase.


	15. Bran III

BRAN III

Bran knew he had to talk to Rickon after he had attacked Theon in the Great Hall. Rickon obviously gave himself away, but the possibility of this strange situation extending out to more than just Arya and him at once excited, calmed, and scared Bran. Mayhaps his older brothers were affected as well? It would explain why they'd acted so funny in the courtyard earlier, leaving the castle without a word to no one.

Bran and Arya, who insisted on coming along, slipped into Rickon's room after his parents had had what had obviously been a long talk. As they left for their own compartments he heard them say,

"I know not what he's raving about with this Shaggydog or Osha, or Theon attacking Winterfell,” said his mother

His father responded, "The child is sick, he needs to be a bed. I'll send Maester Luwin to him in the morning.”

"He's more than just sick, Ned! I fear he's gone mad..."

"He's not the only one, I'm afraid."

And at this their voices travelled too far for Bran to hear any more of their conversation. If Bran had had any doubts before of his brother being from the same time as him, he no longer harbored them, although as he had suspected his parents remembered nothing. He and Arya then snuck into the nursery, as quietly as they could. The room felt at once smaller and larger than it had when Bran had last lived in it four--or was it now two?--years earlier. He attributed this to the fact that the extra bed and chests that he had held had been moved to his own compartments when he'd left the nursery. The candles were still lit and their sister Sansa was sitting by the bed trying to sing the toddler a lullaby, but Rickon kept interrupting with a demand for Shaggy.

"Shaggy will come, Rickon. He's nearby, just busy." said Bran

Sansa at this stopped her attempts soothe Rickon and stared at Bran.

"Shaggy is near?" asked Rickon, his face lighting up with a desperate smile.

Bran tripped over his words on how to put it to Rickon, saying, "Yes... he's with his pack mother. He's still too small to leave her."

"But Shaggy's big, bigger than me!" protested the toddler.

"Well... uh... he just found his pack mother again after being separated, just like you found Mother again, Rickon. Want you not to be near Mother?" asked Bran

The toddler gave a small nod of his head.

"But when will he come back?" asked Rickon

"I know not, but soon probably."

"Maybe his pack mama could come too, so he wouldn't leave..." added the toddler fitfully, as he laid down, burying his head in his pillow.

Bran didn't know what to say to this, and Sansa just continued to stare at him, and Arya at Sansa. It wasn't long before they even began to hear their baby brother's light breathing, indicating that Rickon had fallen asleep. They passed a few moments like this before Sansa broke the silence, "Do you remember?"

"Do you?" replied Bran.

Sansa slowly nodded her head and then at once scooped him up in a very un-Sansa like way and hugged him as she exclaimed, "I thought Rickon and I were the only ones!" After Bran reminded her that he needed to breathe, she then looked over to Arya, who stared almost impassionately at her from the door.

"Arya too?" asked Sansa tenatively.

"Did you kill Joffrey?" was the only thing that Arya asked, refusing to move from her spot.

Sansa seemed troubled by this question before answering: "Yes and no. I was part of a plot, but didn't know it. Though I'm not sorry he died."

Arya snorted and simply replied, "Valar morghulis."

Bran was confused by her response. He knew enough from his old lessons in High Valyrian from the Septon and Maester Luwin that it was in fact High Valyrian, but Sansa seemed to comprehend it more than he could at the moment. Of all the things he'd been taught, High Valyrian had been the one thing that he'd found the smallest use for and committed the least of his memory towards.

"Did you escape? I was so worried they'd caught and were t--torturing you too in some black cell" said Sansa to Arya. Bran's eyes met Sansa's when she spoke of torture--Arya apparently as well, for Sansa looked between the two of them as though she thought she might have said too much. Arya, simply nodded her head in response to Sansa, and moved closer, and moved closer, now standing at the far corner of the foot of the bed away from Sansa. Sansa then turned to Bran and hugged Bran and cried into him, "And when I heard what Theon did to you and Rickon... oh Bran! I'm so sorry!"

Rickon whimpered and whined at the sound of this, causing them all to return to the whisper they had been speaking at before.

Bran felt he was repeating himself by telling Sansa what he'd told Arya earlier--that Theon hadn't killed him or Rickon, but in fact had only betrayed them and taken Winterfell. Sansa seemed simultaneously relieved and troubled by this news before adding herself "We all escaped, somehow... is there anyone else who remembers, you think?"

"I think Jon and Robb might," suggested Bran.

"No, they're clueless about Sh--the direwolves." said Sansa, apparently thinking better of mentioning Shaggydog again within earshot of Rickon. She then asked, "Bran, how did you know where the wolves were?"

Bran swallowed hard before answering, he had to tread lightly here. After considering and rejecting a million different ways to explain, he decided the truth was the simplest option--it was already fantastical enough that the four of them had been sent here to the past, if she could accept that, then surely she could handle the truth. But he still had to approach it carefully, he decided to deflect the focus from him for the moment while still explaining what it meant to be a warg in a way he thought she would understand, and so he asked, "Sansa, before she died, did you ever dreamt you were inside Lady?"

He expected to see Sansa's eyes bulge and grow worried, but not for her to answer, "Y--Yes, I think. Rickon too... the way he talks about Sh--his wolf, you would think that sometimes he was the wolf."

Bran looked on at his sister with incredulity, but it was Arya's answer which shocked him next.

"You too?" Arya now leaned in closer against the wooden base of Rickon's bed.

Sansa took a deep breath and shuddered it out before speaking."It was on the King's Road, just before, well she died. I thought it was just a dream, you see. In it... I was Lady, and we--she--I were playing with a little white rabbit. It was so cute and so trusting... and then she--I grabbed it by its neck, tossed it into the air, and it landed dead on the ground, snapping its neck. It scared me so much I then woke up, screaming... father came in and asked what was wrong--and before I could tell him my dream, Lady came in with the dead rabbit in her mouth. I was so scared that I hadn't dreamt it that I just blocked it out. I didn't want to think about it... you know what the The Seven-Pointed Star says about... skinchangers."

"We've got the blood of the First Men, Sansa, and our ancestors all have a direwolf carved next to them in the crypts... if we all can do it, perhaps it was for a reason that our House has forgotten."

"But to change one's skin is an unclean thing!" trembled Sansa, quoting one of the many proverbs and passages of The Seven-Pointed Star that spoke of skinchangers.

"But we're Starks! We follow the Old Gods."

"We also have Andal blood. Or would you disown mother?" snapped Sansa.

Bran didn't know how to respond to this, but Sansa apparently felt her point had been made and continued with, "Do you know where the wolves are? I think not Rickon can take another day without Sh--his wolf."

"They haven't been born yet."

"We've gone back that far?!"

"Gone back?" asked Arya suspiciously.

Sansa ignored her question by continuing, "Could we get the she-wolf here, then? As long as there's a wolf nearby, I think we could keep Rickon calm, and then what happened tonight--"

"--wouldn't happen again." finished Bran, understanding where Sansa was going with this.

"I could try and warg the pack mother... I learned to change skins with a few ravens, but I'd have to force myself onto the pack mother. It might not work, I tried warging with Summer earlier and there were a few problems..."

"And you question me about being a Stark! Well are you, or aren't you?" asked Sansa.

Bran felt a little miffed by Sansa's sudden challenge to him, and so he began to focus on the pack mother--the headache he'd earned earlier in the Maester's room returning, only this time stronger and much more painful--soon the room around him began to spin and the next thing he knew he was in the forest stalking two men pups upon horses as they travelled through the forest. He soon recognized the two men pups as his older brothers, and suddenly realized by his ability to recognize them that his was the only consciousness inside the wolf. Where was the wolf?


	16. Catelyn II

**CATELYN II**

 

After Theon had left the Great Hall, things began to settle down. Sansa did her best to soothe Rickon, but the babe proved inconsolable. The meal had been ruined when the servants had dropped the platter containing the roasted stag’s leg in all the commotion. Catelyn and Ned decided that it would be best to set the youngest to bed and send the rest of the children off to the kitchens to eat. Sansa refused to eat, saying she wasn’t all that hungry and instead focused all her attentions on Rickon--who was still a handful, but increasingly less so--obviously tired from overexertion.

 

“Why is he here and not Shaggy and Osha? _He_ attacked Winterfell!” bewailed the boy. This confused Catelyn, but she let Sansa, who seemed to know what to say to these things better than she, to continue to soothe her babe. It pained her to see this task fall to her eldest daughter, but Catelyn knew not what to do. Scrapes, bruises, hurts, and tears she could consol, but madness? It was completely out of her reach. Ned gave her the look that she knew he meant he wished to speak with her and so they left Sansa to him.

 

"I know not what he raves about with this Shaggydog or Osha, or Theon attacking Winterfell," Catelyn admitted once they’d closed the door to the nursery, and they began to walk down the long hall.

 

"The child is sick, he needs to be a bed. I shall send Maester Luwin to him in the morning."

 

"He's more than just sick, Ned! I fear he's gone mad..."

 

"He's not the only one, I'm afraid."

 

It was then Ned put a finger over his mouth, indicated that there were small shadows down the hall and motioned for Catelyn to speak with him outside on a wooden terrace, built adjacent to her chambers. They’d find some privacy to speak there. By the seven she knew they’d need it.

 

“What mean you, he’s not the only one?” asked Catelyn in a harried whisper when she’d closed the door.

 

“I wanted to worry you not, Cat, but... Bran, though he hides it well, has not been himself either.”

 

Catelyn almost felt like she would fall, but she gathered her strength before her knees could buckle. Bran? Her sweet and darling boy? It couldn’t be true! But then again, Ned had been troubled last night with Bran--even she had suspected that much. What if it was true? Was it a curse? A curse upon her family. Madness had been a Targaryeon trait. Had the Seven been displeased with her family’s involvement in overturning the Mad King? The King--for all that he had been mad--had still been an anointed King--blessed with the seven holy oils and crowned rightfully as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and keeper of the faith of the Seven pointed star in the Sept of Baelor. Had they been wrong to o’erthrow him?

 

“Speak to me, Cat. You torture me with silence,” urged Ned, a quivering emotion tentatively poking out from his icy Northern exterior.

 

“Were we wrong?” was all that Cat could manage to utter.

 

He looked at her with utter confusion before saying, “What mean you?”

 

“Were we wrong to o’erthrow an anointed King? The Seven’s chosen.” clarified Catelyn with a certain amount of dignity being given to the titles more than they had in several years. For when an usurper takes the throne, what does it mean to be the rightful king?

 

Ned's reaction was quick and fierce, as though she had slapped him by merely suggesting it. “How can you you ask that? He was mad!”

 

She looked at him pointedly and said, “And now so are our sons.”

 

Ned seemed troubled by this comment, as if he wanted to dismiss it, like he did most matters of faith he struggled with, but he simply said, “The Gods work not that way.”

 

“Your gods.”

 

An uneasy silence over fell them for a long while, which neither seemed to break until Catelyn said, “I need to pray.”

 

And she left him there upon the terrace. As she returned to the hall, she heard Sansa scream from the nursery followed by a crashing sound and a distinct rabble of fighting. Catelyn ran as fast as she could to the nursery and opened the door. What she saw inside confirmed her worst fears. Bran was mad. He growled and grunted like a wild animal, biting and scratching Arya who apparently was trying to subdue him, but in the process was destroying the room. Sansa and Rickon were huddled together on her babe’s bed, in utter fear of the scene before them. And now, Catelyn knew that they had been wrong, and that they were cursed.


	17. Robb III

**ROBB III**

 

The anger and determination with which they had left Winterfell, had long since left them. After determining that Theon would likely head East to escape over land, instead of chancing being seen at White Harbor, they’d turned their horses to search the Wolfswood. Being late in the day and the forest as thick as it was, the light grew dim rather quickly, but still their nerve pushed them on. That was until they began to grown hungry, and this time it was Jon who spoke of it first, Robb was proud to say.

 

“We should make a fire and look for some game before it gets too dark to see,” suggested Jon.

 

“Of course, _now_ you’re hungry,” japed Robb.

 

A look of shock then overcame Jon, which caused Robb to pull on his mount’s reigns so he could continue to speak with his brother.

 

“What’s wrong?” asked Robb

 

“I didn’t bring a bow with me. In my rush to kill Theon I completely forgot to bring any weapons… how was I going to kill him?”

 

And suddenly Robb realized that much the same was true of him--neither of them had thought much about how they’d... handle… Theon, just that they needed to do something.

 

“Actions before thoughts leave you with naught but oughts,” muttered Robb, the Septon’s gravelly voice ringing in his ear as he said the proverb.

 

“How could I’ve been so stupid!” Jon chided himself.

 

“You weren’t the only one, Snow. The only thing I think I have is the dagger grandfather sent me for my last nameday.” And Robb checked to see if the dagger indeed was still attached to his side, as he routinely did so every morning. At first it had been to show off the rather impressive craftsmanship of the Riverrun smithy, as the handle held an engraved alternating pattern of trout and wolves, capped with a wolf’s head at the end. The blade itself though was decent enough--good for hunting and skinning an animal, but probably not much more, and it was the only weapon they had on either of them at the moment.

 

“It’s more than I have.”

 

“You’ve got some rope in your saddlebag? We can set up some snares and traps and see what we can catch.”

 

Howe’er, before Jon could answer, their horses began to start growing fearful. Both Jon and Robb spent the next few moments trying to calm their increasingly shying mounts, but it wasn’t until he heard the padding of a large animal racing towards him that he looked up to see the largest wolf he’d e’er seen--probably a direwolf--come bounding towards them. What happened next happened much more quickly than Robb could e’er have described it. The horses, rightfully frightened, reared, threw them from their saddles, and took off back the way they’d come. Robb felt sore after hitting the ground, but he The wolf meanwhile continued to come, seeming uninterested in the prey galloping away, and instead focusing all its attention on Jon, whom Robb noticed had not moved since being thrown.

 

“Jon!” called out Robb--hoping that he’d stir and they could run, but by that point the wolf was upon him. Robb reached for his dagger, but froze before he could pull it--all his training leaving him as he could see his end before him. He would die, a hungry wolf’s meal this night. He closed his eyes in fear as the wolf came o’er top him, but instead of biting him he heard a whimper and felt the wolf’s cold nose nuzzle him. Robb opened his eyes to see two worried--and yet familiar blue eyes staring at him, frightened and yet happy. Those eyes--he knew those eyes--but for the life of him he couldn’t place them, and yet he knew them. The wolf then slunk its way over to his brother. He felt like he should pull out his dagger now, and fight to keep the wolf away from his little brother, but Robb did neither of those things. Instead, he joined the wolf by Jon’s side. The wolf to Robb’s surprise--though he probably shouldn’t have been as shocked considering the welcome he’d received from the beast--nuzzled his brother, and when Jon let out a weak groan--Robb let go of a breath he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding.

 

He then shook Jon and asked, “Jon! Can you hear me?”

 

“...yesss… my head hurts...” moaned Jon weakly, his eyes opening just a crack.

 

“Can you move?” asked Robb

 

“I think so…” responded Jon and he saw his brother move each of his arms and legs, and again Robb felt a relief wash o’er him.

 

“We have to get you back to Winterfell.”

 

To Robb’s shock the wolf added a bark of approval, which made Robb question if the beast had understood him.

 

Howe’er Jon wouldn’t have it, “No… Theon…”

 

“Theon can rot on that godforsaken rock!” and though he didn’t say it, Robb knew Jon understood the words he hadn’t said _You’re more important_.

 

The wolf then bowed its head and tried to adjust Jon upon its back, but found it difficult to do alone. Robb, alarmed by the offer of help the wolf seemed to be giving, took it up on its offer and helped drape his younger brother on its back, laying down. Jon was still too groggy to completely comprehend what was going on around him it seemed, and made no comment as he was situated on the wolf. Robb asked if he could grab the fur, and Jon complied, giving a firm but weakened grasp of the beast’s fur. This caused the wolf to yelp slightly, but beyond that the beast seemed unbothered as they slowly made their way back to Winterfell--Robb careful to make sure that Jon wouldn’t fall off the wolf.


	18. Sansa I

**SANSA**

 

She regretted ever challenging Bran. Curse her words. After Bran had almost fallen to the ground--Arya catching him before he did--a sudden change in his demeanor o’ertook him. He no longer stood as straight, and his body seemed to want to haunch into a position lower to the ground, which he might have fallen to, had Arya not been there. Suddenly his eyes snapped open, and the most eerie thing of all was that his blue eyes--his Tully inheritance--were gone, instead replaced with sharp yellow ones.

 

“Bran?” asked Sansa cautiously, and he began to growl. No, not Bran.

 

Suddenly he--it fought to get out of Arya’s grasp and quickly an all out fight broke out between the two. They began to knock into chests and trip over stray toys left strewn about the room, causing an utter disaster. This awoke Rickon, who scared and failing to understand what was going on, clung to her. Sansa tried to call to them to stop it, but her voice failed her before she could get any words out and the only thing she felt she could do was scream.

 

Not a moment later, their mother came bursting through the nursery door. The moment she saw Bran, Sansa saw a look of utter horror o’ercome her face. At this point Arya had almost pinned the thing in her brother’s smaller body to the ground, but it used his small stature to wriggle out of most grasps.

 

It wasn’t until Father came charging into the room himself that Arya had managed to pin the beast in her brother’s body to the ground.

 

“What’s going on here?” demanded her father.

 

“What did I tell you?” was her mother’s response and she seemed desirious to leave the room, but a look at Rickon’s frightened face instead brought her to the bed, and Rickon, hesitatingly at first relinquished his grasp of Sansa and transferred it to his mother, which their mother willingly accepted.

 

“What’s wrong with Bran, mama?” asked Rickon as he buried his head in her side. For whatever reason, their mother chose not to give him more of a reply than a gentle soothing. Their father meanwhile was more concerned with getting through to Bran, badgering Arya with questions she either wouldn’t or couldn’t answer. His questions however came to a stop after he met Bran in the eyes. It was here that Sansa decided to take hold of herself a make a risky gamble.

 

“I’ll tell you what happened, Father,” she announced, drawing his attention to her.

 

Her father nodded slowly and indicated for her to leave the room with him.

 

“Make sure your brother doesn’t... hurt himself,” urged Eddard to Arya, and she silently nodded her head.

 

Sansa and her father left the nursery and closed the door behind them. He then turned to her and said almost cooly, “Tell me everything. Even if you think not I’ll believe you.”

 

Sansa’s now felt that her gamble’s stakes had, as Petyr once told her, been increased. Everything depended now on what she chose to tell her father. But she hardly knew herself where to begin. Would he believe the whole truth? No, probably not. She knew her father to be an understanding man, but there were some things that others accepted easily that he could not. So the entire truth was out. But a partial truth, about an already accepted subject --perhaps that might work.

 

“Bran said he was a… a… skinchanger.” There she said it. It wasn’t a complete lie, it was in fact the truth, even if she did leave out how he knew he was. And once she’d decided her course, the rest of the tale came easy enough. She went on about how Bran had found a direwolf in the forest (this she again took a risk on, but her father’s reaction seemed to indicate that something along those lines had occurred) and how he’d felt almost at one with the beast (this she took from her own dream-memory of Lady--oh Lady! But she couldn’t dwell there if she wanted to convince her father of her story. And on and on she continued, the words coming out easier now that the dam had been burst, of how Bran had told them he had dreams of being the wolf and sometimes he could even see through the wolf when he was awake. He’d been boasting of this ability to her and she’d foolishly dared him to prove it to her, causing him to become as he was, where he neither responded to his name, nor seemed to know who his siblings were. She threw in for good measure that Bran had told Rickon of these dreams before any of them and Rickon had started to go along with the idea, seeing it as a game and pretending to be a warg as well with a wolf called Shaggydog and Bran calling his Osha. She hoped this might ease tensions around her baby brother’s protests--well, most of them.

 

Her father listened with a quiet his youthful nickname had spoken of, never betraying one thought. And when she had finished her tale of half-truths and lies, he spoke as only a man of the North could, with an almost icy chill.

 

“You should have come to me before this.”

 

“I know, Father. I realize that now.” said Sansa, giving her best impression of a reproachful little girl. She then decided to test how much he had accepted of her story with the seemingly innocent question, “Do you think Bran was right? I mean before he went wild his eyes…” and that final detail seemed to set off something in her father that she took to mean he might be considering her story as the truth.

 

“You saw them too?” asked her father, his icy exterior fading for just a moment.

 

“They turned yellow. Bran has blue eyes, not yellow,” said Sansa, and with that detail, Sansa felt she had cinched his belief--or at least cast enough doubt to make it sound reasonable. But before she could confirm it a crashing sound was heard from within the nursery.

 

Immediately they returned to find Arya on the ground, knocked unconscious. Mother had taken Rickon from the bed, clutching him as if for dear life and backed away as far as she could from the released monster in her brother’s body. It was quick and immediately darted out the door, down the hall and down the stairs. It was trying to escape!

 

“Sansa, stay here and make sure your sister isn’t hurt too badly,” ordered her father, and he took his leave of the nursery, as Sansa tried to wake her sister.


	19. Eddard II

**EDDARD II**

 

When Eddard had heard the tale his daughter had weaved, he knew not what to think. Bran, a skinchanger? It sounded like one of Old Nan’s stories. And yet there were rumors that beyond the wall… but they were rumors, and people can think they share a skin with an animal well bonded to them, Eddard had always rationalized. They might think they move as one, but it is only a bond as deep as family that makes them believe they share a skin. And Eddard might have been content to remain of that belief if he hadn’t seen those wild wolf-like yellow eyes staring out at him where his son’s normally serene Tully blue eyes resided. He thought his mind might have been playing tricks on him, until Sansa mentioned seeing them too…

 

What was he thinking, there had to be some other explanation for the eyes--perhaps a sickness? It didn’t matter, his son was troubled and he needed to be a father to his boy, and help him as best he can. With this resolve, Eddard followed as quickly as he could the boy down the Keep and through the halls. Eventually his wild son seeing he was following him and running in a bad attempt like a four-legged animal, down a hall that lead to the bridge to the armory. As Eddard gave chase, he prayed that no servant had left the door to the other building open--and thankfully this proved to be the case. Trapped his wild son seemed to paw at the door, as if he had forgotten how to turn a latch. This struck Eddard as odd, but he dismissed it for the moment.

 

“Bran!”

 

His son did not respond, instead sticking his head to the bottom of the threshold where an obvious draft came, and attempting at pawing down to that corner, as if he might be able to pry the door open by sticking his fingers underneath the crack between it and the threshold. But all it did was cause him to whimper and whine like an injured pup.

 

Suddenly Eddard attempted to meet his son at his own game or madness, whatever it be, and he addressed him as such, “Wolf.”

 

This seemed to gather the attention of his son, as his head turned to him. His son however gave a poor attempt at a growl before attempt to return, with less success to open the door.

 

“Stop it!” ordered Eddard, as though he were commanding a dog--if his son wanted to be a dog, then he would treat him like one. At this command, his son, did stop, but he soon saw it was not because he’d commanded it but because he’d jammed a splinter into his hand, which he attempted to remove by licking the offending area, his whimpering and whining continuing unabated.

 

Eddard, moved by the seeming helplessness of the scene, knelt before his son. A low growl mixed with a whimper came from him as he took his son’s injured hand, carefully placed both his thumbs on either side of the splinter and pushed to bring it closer to the surface of the skin. After which he drew out his knife--causing his wolfish son to try and pull away, but with a gentle hold and a few reassuring clicks of his tongue, he managed to convince his son to allow him to scrape away the remnants of the offending splinter until it was all gone. He then sheathed his knife and his son surprised him by drawing close to nuzzle to him.

 

“That’s all right my boy. Everything will be fine,” said Eddard calmly, and Bran allowed him to pick him up and return him to the nursery. Catelyn and Sansa having returned Rickon to his bed and seeming to be caught in the midst of a discussion that Catelyn was not too receptive of--Eddard thought he could well guess what that was about. Arya was now awake, awkwardly taking her sister and mother’s place as a steady rock for Rickon to cling to. Eddard placed Bran at the edge of the bed, causing Catelyn at first to immediately rise off of it, but as she looked at her son, her eyes widened.

 

“N--Ned… his eyes!”

 

“I told you,” insisted Sansa.

 

It was then that a horn was sounded from the Hunter’s gate. Eddard’s blood quickened--a horn at this time could only mean one thing. He urged his family to stay put where they were. Bran jumped from the bed, seemingly eager to go with him, but Eddard told him to stay and guard the family. He then left the nursery and exited the Great Keep as fast as he could, meeting one of his guardsmen, Fywyn, as he crossed the courtyard.

 

“Your sons horses have returned, milord.”

 

His heart skipped a beat, it wasn’t an attack, thank the gods. “And my sons?” asked Ned

 

“Not with them. Jory and Ser Rodrick have already set out searching for them and told me to send word to you so you could get a larger search party ready to follow, milord.”

 

Eddard thanked him and told him to round up as many of the guards as they could spare without leaving the castle defenseless and continued his stride to the Hunter’s gate, seeing his horse had already been readied for him--likely on either Jory or Ser Rodrick’s orders. It was just as he had reached his mount however that a second horn blast came from the turret above, and a shout about how his sons had been spotted. Eddard thanked the gods and hurriedly rushed to the entrance of the gate, but just as he had the cry of “WOLF!” rang out amongst the turrets. Followed by his son Robb’s voice.

 

“Shoot not!”

 

It was at this point he could see the scene before him. Robb stood before what appeared to be a gigantic grey-black beast on whose back laid a seemingly unconscious--Jon! What had happened to him? Was he still alive?

 

It was then he heard the captain of his archers yelling at Robb to move out of the way. If they shot and missed…

 

“Hold your fire!” bellowed Eddard, and his archers stood down at his command. It was then that Robb and the beast with Jon upon his back cautiously entered through the gates.

 

He embraced Robb as soon as he could, and a flurry of explanations came from his eldest son’s lips that he only caught the snippets of _“Wolf… saved… Jon”_ as his attentions turned to his other son, who was alive, though barely conscious. But what shocked him more than anything after he had finished insuring Jon’s safety was the glimpse he caught of the wolf and it’s blue eyes… Tully blue eyes! And before he could stop himself, he uttered in a voice of disbelief: “Bran?” The wolf barked as if to agree. And everything Eddard thought he knew about the world seemed to have been turned on its head in that one instant.


	20. Arya I

**ARYA**

 

This was no test, she’d finally concluded. It was an impossibility. From what she’d been able to gather, somehow she had awoken in the past, and if she hadn’t received that nasty blow to the head that would likely leave a bruise at the very least--she might have then thought it were but a dream. But no, it was instead a reality, and she was no longer No One, but Arya. And for the first time in a long time she felt a complete euphoria at having the luxury of once again allowing her to be herself.

 

But even as she slowly came to accept the truth of this, a million other things came pouring out, far too fast for her to grasp all at once. Sansa had probably been tortured, they all were skinchangers, Bran had gone wild, the horn had sounded... it was all just happening too fast. At first she’d wanted to go with her father to see what had caused the horn to be blown, but a glance down at her terrified baby brother, convinced her otherwise to stay, if only for his sake. Sansa meanwhile had taken it upon herself to persuade their mother that Bran had changed skins with a wolf. Her other little brother--or the wolf inhabiting him she guessed, skinchanging didn’t work that way, did it?--meanwhile had taken to pawing at the door after her father had left.

 

“You have to believe me, mother!” implored Sansa for what felt like the hundreth time.

 

“It’s a curse!” denied their mother with a shake of her head.

 

“There’s no such things as curses!” insisted Sansa

 

“Tempt not the gods, child!” snapped mother, with a mix of fury and fear that Arya had never seen in her before.

 

“She’s telling the truth, mother” Arya finally added, tired of the stalemate that the two had come to.

 

Both Sansa and her mother turned to look at her. Sansa with relief, and her mother with a kind of tired anguish, “Not you too, Arya!”

 

Arya felt like only the truth would settle the matter and end the ceaseless argument. “I’m a skinchanger too. I had a cat once.”

 

Both Sansa and her mother looked at her with various looks of shock.

 

“Bran said it’s part of being a Stark, mother. Maybe if father found an animal he might--” added Sansa

 

“Jape not about something like that! How can something that does _that_ to my son be… be…” said their mother as she indicated towards a confused Bran who had stopped pawing at the door but instead had curled up and watched them with worried eyes. She didn’t have to finish the sentence for her meaning to be understood.

 

Just then a second horn blast was heard in the distance along with a lot of commotion. Sansa was immediately at the window.

 

“It’s Robb, and there’s Jon and… a wolf!”

 

“Shaggy!” squealed Rickon, who had left her side and joined their sister at the window.


	21. Robb IV

**ROBB IV**

 

When Winterfell had come in sight, Robb had to not only keep himself from running to its gates--but also hold back the wolf, which for some odd reason wished to do much the same as him. However neither case would have been of help to Jon, so Robb held control of his desires for the moment. As they approached he could hear the horn announcing their arrival, and Robb thought that things were going to be all right.

 

“We’re almost there.” reassured Robb to his dazed brother, whose head would occasionally drop to the side as the wolf walked, before he would have to pick it up again.

 

What worried Robb was when he heard the call of “Wolf” ring out from the ramparts, and the archers began to take aim.

 

The wolf strangely seemed to understand the situation and in a frightened manner started to shy back further into the forest, causing Jon to lean to one side and his legs begin to drag on the ground.

 

If the archers weren’t careful, they could shoot Jon just as easily as they could the wolf, and so Robb did the only thing he could think to do. So he placed himself between the wolf with his little brother, and the archers. He then cried out, “Shoot not!”, hoping that they’d understand that the wolf was trying to help, not harm Jon. It was then that Robb saw his father emerge at the gate, and if he hadn’t been the only thing between his brother and death, Robb would have broke his reserve and ran to his father like the child he felt like seeing his father at that moment. Instead he stood his ground, protecting on pane of his own life, brother and wolf. In Robb’s own mind he was making a stand of tremendous importance.

 

His father called for the archers to stand down, and Robb breathed a sigh of relief in tandem with the gigantic grey-black beast next to him. Then, careful to continue to convey the conviction of his choice, Robb purposefully strode back through the Hunter’s Gate, only embracing his father when it seemed the appropriate thing to do to ease a parent’s worry.

 

Robb then broke into a fully detailed explanation of what had happened to them, but his father was still caught in worry for the well-being of Jon, and he rather dismissively took in what Robb had to say as examined Jon. Robb gave up trying to explain why they had left the castle at that point, instead his own brotherly concern edging out his duty to explain himself to his lordly father. Nothing of the initial examination shocked Robb to hear--Jon would need to be taken to his room and Maester Luwin sent for--and a guard was dispatched to the Maester’s turret. However it was when his father looked the wolf in its blue eyes and murmured “Bran” that Robb was taken aback. His father was right, the wolf’s eyes did, at least in the moonlight, seem to resemble his even younger brother, but the most eerie thing that Robb couldn’t shake off for several nights thereafter until he eventually learned the truth was when the wolf barked in return, as though it had understood his father.

 

Since Jon was growing weaker from a long-held desire to pass out--which neither Robb nor Eddard would allow--it fell to Robb and their father to carry him up the steps of the Great Keep and into his room. The wolf, all this while followed, and to Robb’s great surprise his father allowed the creature to follow, as though it were one of his worried siblings, eager to see that Jon was well taken care of before departing.

 

Maester Luwin arrived not too long thereafter, asking Jon several questions to ascertain his mental capabilities and for him to move specific body parts and examining the tender spot on his skull. All through the examination, the wolf was by Jon’s side, licking his hand and nuzzling his side with an odd affection. Jon was then administered a dram of Milk of the Poppy to ease the pain was administered along with a sip of dreamwine Before the medicine came into full effect, the rest of the family, save Bran oddly enough, and his mother (which was to be expected) came bursting into the room to see Jon before he fell asleep. To everyone’s surprise Arya the Aloof--as some of the servants had taken to calling her over the past few days--showed the most emotion of anyone, hugging Jon--which he seemed to take the most comfort in. Sansa asked Jon if he were comfortable, she blotted the sweat beading on his forehead with a dry cloth, and fluffed a pillow for him--acting part nursemaid and part mother to her older brother. Rickon had done much the same, but that had been expected from their youngest brother. What took Robb off guard was when he then immediately attached himself to the wolf, proclaiming it to be “Shaggy!” The wolf responded, at first annoyed, but eventually giving in and began oddly enough to roughhouse with the toddler.

 

“Rickon, get off that--” started Robb, his heart jumping into his throat as he saw his brother carelessly manhandle a beast at least six or seven times his size.

 

His father put a hand on his shoulder and said, “I’ll speak to them.” And with that he called for Rickon and the wolf out into the hallway. It was then that Robb noticed that Arya hadn’t left Jon’s side, but seemed to be falling asleep clutching their brother. If Jon didn’t also need his sleep, Robb might have been inclined to let them be and jibe Arya about it in the morning.

 

“Arya, get up. Jon needs his sleep.”

 

“No, I’m staying here.”

 

“Arya, that might not be such a wise...”

 

It was then that Jon weakly brought his other arm up that Arya had not pinned down, and ran his hand affectionately through her hair and said, “Welcome back, little sister.”

 

Her response was typical Arya, “You’re not allowed to leave. Ever. Not even to the wall.” Robb couldn’t help but laugh.

 

Jon tried to laugh as well, but it came out rather muted. He then mockingly asked, “Would you keep me prisoner here then?”

 

Arya’s answer was in response to Jon, but her eyes met Robb’s as she said, “I’d keep you safe,” and for a brief moment Robb thought she might be talking about more than just Jon.

 

It was at that moment that a yelp was pained heard out in the courtyard, Robb then went to the window to see the outline of the wolf--Rickon still climbing all over it--and an arrow stuck in its left rear paw. Robb followed the arrow backwards from where he guessed it had come and saw the last person he’d expected to see in Winterfell again. Theon, with another arrow aimed right for his little brother.


	22. Bran IV

**BRAN IV**

 

Bran didn’t particularly like being referred to as “wolf”, not one bit, but as long as he was in the body of one, he figured he had little room to complain. So he followed his father out of Jon’s room, Rickon hanging all over him, still thinking him Shaggy--that wolf must be a saint to put up with Rickon climbing all over him, for his brother was all feet and hands in all the wrong places.

 

Once outside, his father looked him directly in his eyes, and at long last, Bran’s

 

“Can you switch back?” was the only thing his father asked.

 

And at last Bran finally knew for certain that Sansa--or Arya, even--most definitely had explained skinchanging to their father. Bran whimpered for his answer--trying to convey that he didn’t want to change back with Rickon all over him, if only for the fact that he didn’t know what would happen when he left the she-wolf.

 

He was a little nervous as he had not once felt the wolf’s consciousness in this body, and that worried him. Had he warged a corpse? Was that why it had hurt so much to warg? No--he’d felt Jon pulling at the she-wolf’s fur all through the walk back to Winterfell, not to mention the several direwolf pups squirming inside. If this was how mother had felt all through carrying him, Bran vowed to be even kinder to her in the future.

 

Had he been so focused on forcing the connection he’d instead suppressed the wolf? That might be it... and if he changed back now with Rickon all over him in the middle of the Great Keep--who knew what a frightened she-wolf quick with pups might do. No, if he was to try, he was going to have to get the she-wolf in a place where she could be contained… After all, if she left for the forest now, Rickon would likely chase after her. Where could he keep the wolf? And then Bran knew immediately where to go--the kennels! With a bark and a jerk of his head to indicate for his father to follow him, Bran rushed down the steps, his father, failing to keep a pace. Rickon all the while urging “Shaggy go faster!” and mirthfully laughing as he clung to Bran’s back.

 

As they exited the keep into the courtyard, Bran soon felt the wolf was exhausted and he could hardly blame the body for feeling as such. After dragging Jon back to Winterfell, rough housing with Rickon, and the pups inside being restless, the she-wolf deserved a rest. So Bran slowed her body down to a nice trot, not feeling any need to rush.

 

“No! Shaggy! Bad!” scolded Rickon, obviously wishing to go faster. He then pounded his fist on the she-wolf’s head--Shaggy was indeed a saint--and instinctively Bran growled in response. It was after that a sudden jabbing pain shot through his left rear leg, Bran yelped in pain and he felt the world spinning once again. When the spinning stopped he found himself back in his body, in his own room, being held by his mother.

 

“Mother?” asked Bran

 

“Bran, my beloved boy! Oh bless the seven, for they are merciful!” exclaimed his mother as she pulled him further and tighter into her grasp. And Bran, glad to be back in his own body and with his mother held tight to her as well.

 

The only thing that could disturb such a happy reunion was his brother’s scream from the courtyard.


	23. Rickon III

**RICKON III**

 

After the arrow hit Shaggydog, something changed in him. Rickon didn’t know what it was, but gone was his easygoing nature, and suddenly he was trying to throw him off! Rickon simply held on tighter, determined not to be thrown.

 

“Theon, stop!” cried his father’s voice.

 

A second arrow swerved past Rickon’s head, ruffling his hair and disturbing Shaggy. It was this arrow that caused Shaggy to break out into a near run for the big gate he’d come in through. Every so often, Shaggy would stumble as his is back left leg would give out beneath him, but he made it quickly enough past the kennels and to the edge of the drawbridge of the gate--panting heavily and still trying to shake Rickon off. Just then three men on horses came galloping out of the forest. Shaggy, scared and tired, assumed Rickon, darted as fast as he could towards the kennels.

 

“The wolf!” yelled one of the men.

 

“The beast has young Rickon! Trap it!” bellowed another.

 

Shaggy, obviously growing weaker, nearly had to drag himself into the kennel to hide. Once inside he plopped down in the dark corner of one of the straw-laid cells. Once inside, Shaggy barely fit one he’d plopped down onto one his right side. It was then that Rickon wriggled around Shaggy’s neck so he could look him in the eye.

 

“Worry not Shaggy, I’ll make Theon pay! … Shaggy?”

 

Instead of the bright green eyes that Rickon knew, a pair of yellow eyes were staring at him.

 

“Shaggy?” asked an increasingly fearful Rickon.

 

The wolf’s only reply was silence. What had happened to Shaggy? Had Theon done this to him with that nasty arrow?

 

Just then two hands grabbed at Rickon from behind, but Rickon reacted by clinging tigher to the wolf’s neck.

 

“Let go, lad!” ordered a man.

 

“No!”

 

“Make not this any harder than it has to be!”

 

“No!”

 

“Take your hands off my son!”

 

At that command the struggle ceased and Rickon saw his father nearly pushed the man who’d grabbed him aside and held out his arms for Rickon to enter--which Rickon gladly did.

 

“Are you all right, Rickon?”

 

Rickon nodded his head and clung even tighter to his father.

 

“No, Jory!” yelled his father not a moment after. Rickon turned his head to see the man called Jory with his sword raised above the wolf--its eyes closed awaiting the impending swing.

 

“Milord?” asked the man called Jory.

 

“That wolf brought Jon home and saved his life. I would prefer not to repay its gift to my family by taking its life.”

 

A tense moment passed, after which the man called Jory slowly relinquished his old on the weapon and said, “Aye, milord.”

 

“Fetch the kennelmaster, I’d like him to see to its wounds.”

 

The man called Jory then left, leaving the other man who’d tried to grab him from behind.

 

“Ser Rodrick, I believe I ought to apologize--”

 

“‘Tis no matter, my lord. If it had been Beth…” and the man called Ser Rodrick did not finish his thought, which Rickon thought irritating. His father dismissed the man, who left without a further word. One they were alone with the wolf, his father immediately knelt down by the wolf’s side and then stopped. Rickon, wanting to see what was going on better, adjusted himself so he sat atop his father’s shoulders.

 

His father was now staring the wolf in its eyes, neither making a move nor sound. And then his father moved to the hurt leg and in one quick motion pulled the arrow from its leg. The wolf whined a bit, but after it had been done it laid its head down and snorted.

 

“That’s it, Wolf,” said his father as he then rubbed its side, stopping when he came to the lower end of its belly. He then brought his other hand up next to it and began to feel around that part of the wolf--but why Rickon could hardly understand. Rickon then heard half of a laugh come from his father.


	24. Sansa II

_298 AL - Day Three_

 

**SANSA II**

 

After the excitement of last night, Sansa had fallen almost immediately to sleep. The following morning was the first time since having returned to the past that the family broke its fast together--excepting Theon whom she had suspected had taken her mother’s advice on eating in the kitchens that night, and Jon, who still was out cold from the combination of Milk of the Poppy and dreamwine. It was after the morning meal that her father had asked for all of the children except Rickon to meet with him in his solar. Sansa knew what that meant, they were all due for a lecture.

 

When they all had gathered in the room brightly lit by its large windows, skylights, and Myrish glass situated to reflect the light, her father had them all stand

 

“Before I begin, is there anything that any of you would like to tell me about why that direwolf is here?”

 

Sansa could feel that of all of them, Robb was the most genuinely confused, which her father saw right away.

 

Bran finally broke the silence, “She’s with pups.”

 

Her father gave a small smile at Bran’s admission, before quietly saying, “Thank you, Bran, for your honesty.”

 

“I’ll admit it was a clever trick, trying to sneak in a pregnant direwolf for her pups… had the wolf not scared Jon’s horse and he’d not gotten hurt, it might have even worked, for a time. Let me finish Robb, then you can give your explanations... Let me ask all of you this: How were you going to separate the pups from their mother? Let me assure you that any she-wolf would fight to the death to protect her pups. Think of your mother and what she’d go through if anyone took you from her. Think on that. The direwolf is injured and heavy with the pups, the kennel master says she’s likely to give birth any day, and as long as the beast needs to heal and nurse her pups she’ll remain in the kennels. But once she and her pups are ready, they will be released back into the Wolfswood. A direwolf is _not_ a pet. It is a wild, fierce, and strong beast of the North. It is to be respected as well as feared. _That_ is why our ancestors chose it as our house sigil. Do all of you understand me?”

 

“Yes, father” they all murmured.

 

“Now Robb, you had something to say to me?” asked their father.

 

“Jon and I didn’t go into the forest to get the direwolf.”

 

“Then why did you miss supper?”

 

“We thought we were pursuing Theon.”

 

“What does Theon have to do with this?”

 

Robb then turned to Bran and asked, “Bran, are you going to tell him, or should I?”

 

Bran was completely caught off guard by this question, when this became apparent to Robb, he then sighed and said, “Theon attempted to kill Bran and Rickon.”

 

For the briefest of moments Sansa thought that Robb might have also been spirited away from the future they had, but then all the instances in the past few days that had shown he wasn’t returned to her mind and she was left to wonder what Robb meant.

 

“That is a heavy charge to lay against the boy. How do you know this?”

 

“Jon and I overheard Bran tell Arya.”

 

“Well, Bran, is it true?”

 

But before Bran could say anything, Arya chimed in rather too eagerly, “Yes. I saw him do it.”

 

But at this, their father simply smiled wryly, “Then why did Bran need tell you about it?”

 

Arya did not seem to have an answer to this, so their father continued with, “I know it might have seemed like he was trying to kill you last night, Bran. But you have to understand, he didn’t know you were in the wolf, and he was trying to save Rickon. I have spoken with him on this matter already and he assures me he was doing everything in his capability to ensure the safety of your brother--even if his actions nearly killed him.”

 

“Bran’s a... skinchanger?” asked Robb

 

“Yes, I helped you bring Jon back to Winterfell,” admitted Bran.

 

“I thought that wolf was behaving strangely… but father, I heard Bran tell Arya yesterday afternoon, not last night. How could Jon and I have ridden out in time to miss supper otherwise?” added Robb with an insistence that proper attention be paid to the threat he must have felt living under their roof.

 

“Bran…” admonished their father sternly.

 

Sansa finally interrupted, not being able to bare it anymore, interrupting Bran before he could speak with, “Father, I can explain everything.”

 

“Sansa…” warned Bran.

 

“No, Bran, it’s time father knew the truth. Robb too. Though I doubt either of you will believe me.” said Sansa nervously as she turned from Bran to face both Robb and their father.

 

“Go on,” was all that their father said, his face betraying not whether he’d believe or disbelieve. Robb crossed his arms, and all eyes--even those of Arya and Bran--turning to Sansa.

 

Sansa took a deep breath before speaking, reminding herself that father had come to accept the truth of Bran’s skinchanging, mayhaps he could accept the rest. She spoke tentatively at first, flustered and halting as she said, “Bran, Arya, Rickon and I aren’t who you think we are... I mean, we’re still ourselves... but not the ones you’re familiar with. For you see--uh--three days ago we woke up in what we know to be our past, but to you we come from what you could say is... the future. Rickon doesn’t really understand it, I mean... he’s only five years old.”

 

“Three.” interjected their father.

 

“No, when--where we’re from he’s five. I’m four and ten, Arya is one and ten, and Bran is nine,” explained Sansa.

 

It was then that her father sighed, shook his head and said, “I ask for the truth and instead…”

 

“It is the truth!” yelled not only Sansa, but Arya and Bran as well.

 

There seemed to be enough weight behind all three of their united protests for their father to entertain listening to them a little longer as he said, “All right, let’s say you all are from two years in the future, how did you get here?”

 

It was now that Sansa found herself having trouble keeping up with all the words that came bubbling out, “I know not. One night I’m in the Eyrie, Petyr is telling me that I’m to marry Harold Hardyng, and the next morning I’m waking up in my own bed in Winterfell. At first I thought it was a dream, and that any moment cousin Robert would smash Winterfell and it would turn to snow and I’d be left in its ruins as a nightmare. But the dream kept going on and on, and soon I realized I wasn’t dreaming anymore, but here… actually home.”

 

Another silence passed as her words sunk in, finally her father said, “I’ll give you one chance to prove it--if what you say comes to pass, I will believe you. If it doesn’t, then you shall be assisting the servants in their duties around Winterfell for a month.”

 

Sansa nodded to show she understood and thought deep and long about what was to come, trying to find something to latch on to, then suddenly it came to her memory. And she said, “Uncle Jon is going to die.”

 

At this her father gave yet another sigh. “Your uncle is an old man. Frankly, any soothsayer could proclaim that and probably have a good chance of being right.”

 

Sansa however felt the need to continue--to prove herself right, despite his dismissal. Mayhaps he’d believe her, mayhaps it might make a difference, and so she spoke, “He’s going to be poisoned… by Aunt Lysa. She told me the whole thing. Petyr convinced--is convincing her to put Tears of Lys in his wine. She’s then going to write mother and blame the Lannisters, which was also Petyr’s idea. She thinks that if Uncle Jon dies she and Petyr could be together you see, and they did--do marry, but after she proved--proves to be a piece no longer useful to him, he’ll kill her!”

 

The entire solar was eerily quiet after she’d said this, Arya staring at her oddly, Bran’s and Robb’s eyes wide open, but her father, his cold exterior continued to hide any hint of a reaction. Finally he asked, “Who’s this Petyr you keep mentioning?”

 

“Lord Baelish. He’s the Master of Coin. Aunt Lysa convinced Uncle Jon to put him in the position.” explained Sansa.

 

Her father said nothing in reply for a moment. After seeming to think on this he then turned to face Bran and Arya, asking, “Do either of you have anything to add to this story?”

 

Both Arya and Bran shook their heads.

 

Bran clarified by saying, “I was in the North.”

 

“I haven’t seen Sansa in over a year,” was Arya’s only reply.

 

A moment of silence o’ertook them, and it was finally Robb who broke it with, “But that doesn’t explain Theon. If he will try to kill you in the... future, then why?”

 

Sansa didn’t know if she had it in her to continue, she felt her energy being drained of her from having told so much already. It was Bran who looked Robb straight in the eye and said, “Because you let him go.”

 

Robb seemed to be taken aback by his younger brother’s accusation--enough to keep him quiet while Bran added, “You’ll send him to Pyke to get his father’s help, and he’ll turn his cloak and attack Winterfell.”

 

“Why would Robb send Theon anywhere? He’s my ward,” interjected their father.

 

“Because you _died_ , father.” Arya replied and at the memory of this, Sansa couldn’t take it anymore and broke down crying, collapsing to the floor as her knees gave way. In her mind she was recalling that hateful day… how she had pleaded for mercy, only to watch as Joffrey had flippantly gone back on his word. Most of all, though, she recalled how it had all been her fault. Her fault that they hadn’t escaped. Sansa soon found someone had wrapped their arms around her, and she turned and was surprised to see it was Arya, who was silently crying as well. Bran soon joined them.

 

It was then that their mother entered the room, swooping down to take the three of them in her arms and begin to comfort them. Demanding of their father, “Ned, what did you say to them?”

 

Her father was at a loss for words, for he did not answer her, and their mother shepherded the three of them from the room to comfort them further away from their father. Sansa however was near inconsolable as she saw in her mind her father’s head severed from his body, again and again.


	25. Eddard III

**EDDARD III**

 

Ned knew not what to believe. He deeply doubted that his three children, he’d suggested the trial merely as a way to teach his daughter not to try and jape and lie on such important matters as these, but then the matter of the revelation of his... end...

 

“What are your thoughts on these... matters?” asked Eddard to his eldest son, who had remained in his solar, as if nailed to the floor in shock.

 

“I know not the truth about what they say of Uncle Jon or even Theon, but they’d never jape about your…” his sentence was left unfinished but its meaning was not.

 

“Why would they not?” Eddard believed he knew the answer but some part of him wanted to hear it said aloud, if only to comfort himself.

 

Robb was beginning to be affected by his emotions as he tried to say in as manly a way as he could say it, “Because I know that they would not. I would not if I were in their situation. Father we… care for you far too much to even consider it… ever!”

 

Eddard then embraced his son firmly and whispered in his ear, “I know you would not.”

 

At this a sob escaped from Robb, followed by an insistence of his supposition of his siblings’ mutual affection, “They would never either!”

 

Before Eddard could assure his son of his meaning that he did not believe that his siblings would either but that it might be that they shared a delusion, that Catelyn did return to the solar, her hand over her mouth with an emotion indescribable at seeing the scene before her.

 

“We’ll speak more on this subject later, for I believe your lady mother and I have something to discuss.”

 

Robb at once took hold of his emotions and tried to appear as old as he could, making Eddard remember his more youthful days when he and Jon would pretend to be soldiers, lords and other men full grown. He took his leave of them and closed the door behind him, leaving Catelyn and Eddard alone.

 

“What is it Cat?” asked Eddard, and he thought for a moment that she might have been told

 

“I’ve come to ask of you a boon, Ned.”

 

Ned was surprised, but he asked for her to continue by saying, “Ask it and if it be in my power to give you shall receive.”

 

She seemed to have trouble saying the next part “I ask that you to write to the King and ask for him to… to… legitimize your son.”

 

Eddard was stunned, “What has brought this to light, my lady?”

 

“A promise that I made the seven, long ago, and failed to keep because I was too weak… until now. When he was young, you remember how the boy caught the pox and nearly died?”

 

Eddard nodded his head, it had been an overwhelming experience, one which had made him feel as if he had nearly betrayed the promise he had given. He had been inconsolable.

 

She trembled as she told more, “I felt guilty, for all that time before I had prayed… oh Ned, you’ll think the worse of me… I prayed for the Stranger to take him.”

 

Eddard did not know what to say or what to think at such a revelation.

 

“When I first heard of his near death, some part of me was... happy. And then I saw what the news did to you, and to Robb--who felt like he’d failed his brother. How could I be happy at your griefs? When I realized that, I hated myself for it. How could I wish harm on a boy that had done me no wrong? And yet I had. I was the worst of all mothers, for not only could I not bring myself to love a motherless child, I wished death upon him. Then I prayed to the seven, asking them to instead let him live… that if they did that I would ask you to make him a Stark and be done with the matter completely. And I promised that I would love him as a son… let him live and I would do all this as penance for my vile thoughts. And when the boy began to mend I was relieved that the seven had been so merciful to mend my error. But as I saw how you took to the news of his recovery... I was weak… and could not guard against the return of my ill-judged resentment of the boy. So I resolved that I would delay my speaking with you, until I could better control my feelings. I said I couldn’t learn to love the boy in a day… too much resentment had been built for that. And so I kept delaying the matter until it seemed irrelevant to mention. I went back on my word and said nothing.”

 

She gave a brief sob before continuing, “Then last night, as I tried to comfort Bran, I turned to the seven and offered to fulfill my debt to them if they could but restore my sons to me. I would have even sworn a vow to turn Septa once our children were grown, but the seven saw fit to return him to me simply on the promise for me to fulfill the long held debt. It was then I realized why our sons went mad. It was not a curse for o’erthrowing the Targaryeons, but a reminder to me of my promise to them--the pledge I owed them and the debt I owe that boy.”

 

She nearly laid herself out prostrate before Eddard as she finished, “Forgive me, I am a weak and jealous woman. I know that. Fault me for those failings for they have brought much grief to our family that could have been buried long ago if I had yet learned more control. And so I beg of you, my lord, make your son a Stark, and let’s put an end to this.”

 

Ned knew not what make of her story. At once he was angry, betrayed, confused, scared, and guilty. He alone knew the truth of Jon’s parentage--with exception to Howland Reed, and he doubted the crannogman would e’er tell a soul.

 

But if she did learn the truth, how could she forgive him for putting her through such anguish? She would hate him all the more if she ever learned the truth if he did not answer her truly now. And yet, if Jon were made a Stark, then his name alone would protect him, no matter if the truth were to ever get out. For once he’d been made a Stark, it mattered not who sired him.

 

“I will do as you ask, but I fear I have matters to discuss with you that you deserve to know… Cat, get up please.”

 

Catelyn pulled herself up off the floor and Eddard sat them in two simple chairs by the hearth that would warm his room in the dead of winter.

 

“I fear I have not been forthright with you for a long time. I apologize for this, though I know that telling you this now cannot begin to atone for what I have made you endure. You are one of the strongest and toughest women I have known, truly a woman worthy of the North, but I fear that when I tell you the truth you shall revile me, and you have every reason--”

 

“Ned, simply tell me.”

 

“I have always said Jon is of my blood, have I not?”

 

“You have. I thought it a strange way of claiming the boy, but the more I came to know you, the more it seemed to make sense that a man of such a disposition as yourself would refrain from naming the deed of your dishonor.”

 

“It is the truth, Cat. For all that I have else claimed, he is my blood--even if he is not my son.” There, he had finally told her.

 

Catelyn looked alarmed, to say the least. Her features went pale, and at first he thought she might faint, but instead she remained as strong and sturdy as a stone.

 

“He is my sister’s son.”

 

“With whom?”

 

“Must you ask?” asked Eddard, believing the answer obvious, and Catelyn realized it not a moment later.

 

Eddard explained it all, the entire story as he knew it. Lyanna had run off with Rhaegar--not been kidnapped--and Rhaegar had conceived Jon with the hopes of getting a daughter to fulfill some prophesy he’d become obsessed over that he would legitimize after taking the throne from his father. Lyanna designed to remain his lover, having vowed to be “no man’s wife” after the way she had seen men keep to their marriage vows. Ned talked of coming to King’s Landing and seeing the bloody remnants of Rhaegar’s other children, wrapped in a cloak of Lannister red to disguise the blood and the vile name that Robert had given them. Then of his journey to Dorne, his battle with the Kingsguard, him arriving upon his sister’s death bed, her handing Jon to him and with her last breaths begging him to promise to protect her son.

 

Catelyn did not seem angry but instead was very quiet as she said, “To protect your nephew, you lied and dishonored me?”

 

Though her anger was not visible he suspected that it just lay beneath the surface, waiting to burst forth if he simply said one thing wrong, which is why he continued cautiously, “I did lie to you. For that I know I am worthy of your contempt, and I deserve it, but know that I did so to protect you should the truth e’er come out. For you would not have been partied to what Robert would call treason, and you and our children would be safe. I took the dishonor upon myself, you were blameless.”

 

“If your lie was done to _protect_ , then why tell me this now? Have my actions made me unworthy of your cloak?” asked Catelyn, her hidden anger now beginning to bubble forth.

 

“No! Never! The reason I tell you all is because it would not be honorable to continue with the lie once you have been so honest with me. As you have been honest with me, so should I with you. ‘Tis a day for honesty, it seems, and what you deserve. And besides once he is made a Stark, what matter it who sired Jon? The Stark name shall protect him as much as it does you.”

 

Catelyn paused before speaking, as though weighing what he had said, “You could have done that years ago and spoke the truth then.”

 

Now Ned felt the rub as he said, “I would not have done it without your blessing, for it would have been a slight to you to do otherwise. But I will say that I harbored a small hoped that through the years you might come to see beyond the boy’s birth. To see how much of a true brother he has been to our son, and concede at long last to making him legitimate provided he and his heirs would inherit after all our children. Though, I knew it was too much to hope for, yet I did think on it.”

 

That had done it, apparently, causing Catelyn to stand in outright anger, “You had already slighted me, my lord, by having me believe the lie! A further slight would have not made a difference.”

 

“I never actually slighted you,” insisted Eddard, and to his mind he had not.

 

Catelyn laughed ruefully “But you did with your lie! For all those years I tortured myself over feelings that I see now meant nothing to you. Every time I looked at the boy I felt slighted and carried an undue hate that he neither deserved, nor I should have felt, but it slowly has been eating me alive these many years! And for what, my lord? Because you could neither _trust_ me, nor carry the slight to its conclusion and bring the subject to an end once and for all. Instead you kept me in an agonizing limbo that I… I... I cannot speak with you on this subject any more. It troubles me too much.”

 

Catelyn then marched to the door of his solar and before leaving, turned to him and said, “I hope you’re happy Ned, for in the end you earned your hope. At least one of us got what they wanted!”

 

She then left his solar, and he thanked the Gods she had taken the news so well. He had imagined telling her so many times, that the fear of what she might do or say he now realized far outweighed the bitter reality. It hurt, he realized, and he’d done her wrong--wrong that he hoped he could one day amend for. He needed to get out of this room, which shone too much light on things otherwise obscure. He needed to breath the fresh air and walk beyond this one room he felt nearly trapped in, and so he left his solar and wandered down to the courtyard, letting his feet guide him on his walk, pensively contemplating all that had been revealed to him in his solar, so that e’en though he was out of his cage, he still felt trapped.

 

Soon he found himself at the kennels where he decided speaking with the kennel master about the direwolf might pull his mind from that infernal trap.

 

The kennel master, Farlen, was the oldest man on his staff, not quite as old as Old Nan herself, but close enough. Having worked since a young boy just able to stand, with his father for Eddard’s grandfather. And it was because of this that Eddard learned something intriguing.

 

“Where did you find the beast milord?” asked Farlen, a short, round man, who looked rather comical with stubby arms, but longish legs.

 

Eddard regaled the tale of how the wolf had saved Jon’s life. He wasn’t ready to admit that Bran had been warging the wolf--for he did not wish to tell Bran’s secret to those whom he might not wish to have it known--but he would tell what the man probably had already heard whispering amongst the castle staff.

 

“I say seeing the size of that wolf s’plains things to me about these here kennels that I ne’er understood until now.”

 

Eddard asked the man to explain further, and suddenly he began to go into details about the design of the building that Eddard in all his life had failed to notice. The original pens had been twice as large as they currently were. In Eddard’s grandfather’s day, the entire kennel had been renovated and the pens had been reorganized to be half so large so that more space for more dogs could be had--but seeing the size of the direwolf in comparison to the original walls, Eddard could see what Farlen meant.

 

“Are you telling me you believe that these kennels were originally designed to house direwolves?” asked Ned.

 

“I can see it as plain as day. It’s why there was such a large open aisle here in the middle originally, before we added in this extra aisle of pens. It’s why the feeding troughs were so large. But most of all it explains why though this is an enormous kennel, there were so few pens for keeping dogs. The entire building was designed with direwolves in mind, milord.” said the man with a confident pat on his rotund belly.

 

Eddard didn’t know how to take this information, so he thanked the kennel master and decided to see for himself in comparison with the building, how the wolf belonged. However, before he could approach the pen where the wolf lay resting, he saw his two youngest sons at the very edge of the pen, lost in conversation with one another. Eddard hung back for a moment to hear what it was they were saying.

 

“And so Shaggy’s in her?” asked Rickon

 

“Yes,” answered Bran.

 

There was that mention of “Shaggy” once again, which made Eddard wonder how much truth he had received on it from his daughter the previous night. That Rickon had confused the wolf for Shaggy was obvious, but was Bran trying a different tactic to keep the direwolf an her pups, despite what he had made clear earlier?

 

“How did he get in her?”

 

Bran scrunched up his face before saying, “It is hard to explain, Rickon.”

 

“How did he get in her?” insisted the babe, clearly not accepting such an answer.

 

How Bran chose to respond, confused Eddard, until he considered that Bran might be trying to coach his youngest son to the story that his middle children held, “Do you understand what the future is?”

 

Rickon paused before slowly nodding his head.

 

Bran further clarified, “The future is tomorrow, you understand that, right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you understand what yesterday is, right?”

 

“The past.”

 

“Yes! And today is… well, the present. See, it all works out like this.” And Ned saw his older son draw two lines in the dirt outside the pen. To the left of one line he called it “yesterday”, in between the two lines he called it “today”, and to the right of the other line he called it “tomorrow”. He then picked up four stones from the ground and called them Sansa, Arya, himself, and Rickon. Rickon protested at being the least shiny of the stones, and Bran quickly said he’d made a mistake and switched his stone for Rickon’s to assail the toddler’s feelings. It was then that Bran took the four stones and moved them from space to space sequentially saying that normally things worked as such with yesterday becoming today and then tomorrow. Rickon quickly seemed to comprehend this, but then asked once more how did Shaggy get inside the wolf, and Bran launched into a second demonstration showing the four rocks going from the tomorrow space, completely skipping the today space, and landing in the yesterday slot, and that that was what had happened to them.

 

“Somehow, we went from tomorrow to yesterday.”

 

“How?” asked the clearly intrigued but confused toddler.

 

“I know not,” replied Bran

 

“Then how did Shaggy get in her?”

 

“Rickon, do you remember how you met Shaggy?” asked Bran

 

“You gave him to me.”

 

“I did, but do you remember how I got him?”

 

“I think so… his mama died… from a stag.”

  
“We’ve gone back to before he left his mama.”

 

And it was at this Ned began to wonder if Bran wasn’t coaching the youngest after all. But it couldn’t possibly be true… could it?

 

As the day progressed Eddard observed his younger children, and suddenly noticed how differently they seemed to act from previously. Arya was silent until spoken to, keeping to herself, and at meals she never kept a knife out of her hand--as though there might be need to use it, until the end of the meal. Rickon was far clingier than he’d ever seen him. Bran, well, Bran seemed to take less offense at not being the best his age at swordplay, and not find his siblings as irritating as he’d done before. Sansa meanwhile seemed to have discovered the art of concealment, for he felt like he could never truly read her feelings the entire day. These changes should not occur overnight, concluded Eddard, and yet they seem to have done so. Might Sansa’s story be true? Eddard couldn’t know what to think on it.

 

Theon continued to keep himself separate from the group, which Eddard thought it best for the moment, and had advised the boy to do until things cooled down after the wolf incident the night prior. Theon didn’t understand why he was being punished for saving Rickon’s life, and Eddard did not know what to tell him, beyond the fact that his two eldest had a quarrel with him for some reason or another, and that the youngest children had in their childish ways taken up their elder brothers’ sides to rather extreme ends. Theon pressed for knowing what he had done to offend Robb--clearly not caring what Jon thought, Eddard noted. And Eddard said that it wasn’t his place to say and he took his leave of the boy.

 

He visited the wolf when he was sure his children were otherwise occupied, feeling obliged as one of the few members of the castle the beast seemed to trust wholly. The beast didn’t seem to like the idea of being penned up--for which Eddard could hardly blame the creature--but it had little say in the matter as standing for long periods of time or walking proved difficult for the creature, even with the kennel master’s tendings.

 

It was however Catelyn which troubled his mind most of the day, and he knew he’d get no sleep without settling matters with her. Which is why he sought out his wife out after she had retired to her chambers. She let him in without saying a word. She had changed into her night shift and had obviously been in the midst of brushing out her hair, which she returned to doing as Eddard said what he had come to ask her.

 

“I wanted to apologize my lady for the many years I have been dishonest with you.”

 

Catelyn did not respond, but she did continue to brushing her hair, although at a slower tempo.

 

He then said what he had come to offer, “Knowing the truth, do you still wish for Jon to become a Stark?”

 

Catelyn paused with her brush.

 

“Why would you not do such a thing?”

 

“I have offended you enough, my lady. I would not have this lie between us a sore subject. I would give you anything if it would mean that you not hate me for the rest of our days.”

 

Her reply was simple but spoken with an honest look shared between them, “I could never hate you, Ned.”

 

They continued to stare “I meant what I said earlier, about needing to bring this subject to a close. Let the past lie. Leaving it open for my sake is in no one’s best interest. Not mine, not yours, and certainly not the boy’s. Let it be done, Ned, and let us move on from here.”

 

“Whatever pleases you.”

 

“It pleases me not, but it must be done. In return, I ask one thing.”

 

“Name it, Cat.”

 

“I would have the truth from you, always. No matter how bitter or dangerous it may be. And if you cannot tell me something at that moment, simply tell me that you cannot explain just yet, and I... will understand.”

 

Ned approached her and sunk to one knee and said, “I pledge this, from now to my dying day.”

 

Catelyn seemed to appreciate the gesture, rising and pulling him up from the position. To show her approval she sealed his vow with a soft, but tender kiss. Which led, quite unintendedly to much more than either had imagined. It was a night unlike all the others that had come before it--save their wedding night. For now, with only honesty between them, did both find themselves at peace and content with one another.


	26. Arya II

_298 AL - The Fourth Day_

 

**ARYA II**

 

It was quite early when they agreed to meet in the Broken Tower, but Arya didn’t mind. She would sleep when her family was safe, which now she was more determined than ever to see happen. She was the first to arrive at the top of the decaying tower, followed soon by Bran and Sansa. Rickon was left to sleep, he need not be involved in their plans less they wished to have them exposed.

 

“I think not father believed us,” began Bran simply.

 

“You think so?” asked Sansa almost dejectedly.

 

“It doesn’t matter if he believes us or not we’ve got to do something before the King comes.”

 

“We’ve got some time to make a plan,” reminded Bran

 

“Not a lot of it!”

 

“There’s never enough time. Time is ever fleeting. The best thing you can do is to become a judge of it and seize the opportunity when it presents itself,” said Sansa quietly, and Arya looked at her sister strangely. Where had she learned that? A moment of silence befell them all until Sansa ended it with, “What are we going to do about Theon?”

 

Bran admitted to everyone with a heavy sigh, “I know not. Some part of me wants to kill him, and yet another part.”

 

“Leave him to me,” insisted Arya.

 

And by the silence Arya could tell that they had done just that. She added Theon to her list and began to consider ways she could quietly kill him.

 

“I’ll help you if I can,” added Bran.

 

They were about to continue when they heard footsteps trying coming up the stone steps but then stop. Arya immediately motioned for her siblings to be quiet and ducked into the shadows. She then creeped carefully down the steps without making a sound, staying in the shadows cast on one side of the stairs. Near the bottom of the steps she saw Robb in the moonlit side of the stairs, simply standing on a step, as though he didn’t care whether he was seen or not.

 

“I know you’re all up there,” called out Robb

 

Arya quietly slinked her way to see if anyone else had joined him, before popping out near her brother, shocking him slightly.

 

“When did you learn that?” asked Robb.

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” said Arya.

 

Robb then looked her straight in the eyes and said, “If you are going to talk about the future, I want in. I want to know what happens.”

 

Arya briefly thought of being outside of the Twins while northmen were being slaughtered and then said, “Some things are better left unknown.”

 

“Would you have father die again, then?” asked Robb pointedly.

 

“Let him come up, Arya,” called down Sansa from the top of the stairs.

 

And so Robb joined their meeting. When he had found a spot to sit in their circle on the floor of the topless tower, they continued.

 

“How did you figure out where we were?” asked Bran

 

Robb grinned and said, “You’re not exactly as stealthy as you think, little brother.”

 

“What do you want?” asked Sansa

 

Robb looked to each of them, pausing barely a moment to see that they met his eyes, “I want in on whatever it is you’re planning.”

 

“You know not what--” started Arya

 

“I know that whatever happens now, father gets killed. And that’s something I’m willing to do anything to avoid. Jon would say the same if he were not unconscious still.”

 

“You believe us?” asked Bran

 

Robb nearly snorted before he said, “Obviously. You three might jape about many things, but father dying--no. Never.”

 

“Do you think father believes us?” asked Arya.

 

At this Robb sighed and looked to the ground, “I think he wants to believe, but… you know how he is. He won’t believe anything until the proof’s right in his face, staring him down.”

 

“And by then it might be too late to do anything…” Arya said ruefully.

 

It was then that Robb turned to Sansa and asked, “What can you tell me about the future? Why does father die?”

 

Sansa fidgeted before speaking, as if getting into a more comfortable sitting position would make her any more comfortable with what she had to say, “That’s what we were trying to put together with what we know. We know that after Uncle Jon dies the King will come here and ask father to replace Uncle Jon as Hand. Father didn’t want to do it at first, he looked troubled about it for a while, but then something changed his mind. He went south, taking Arya and me with him. The King later died, father opposed his son becoming the next king and father was… beheaded for treason.”

 

“Why would father oppose Prince Joffrey from taking his father’s place?” asked Robb.

 

“I can think of many reasons,” scoffed Sansa, which Arya noticed caught Robb off guard. Arya herself wondered when her sister had finally learned to see the truth about her prince charming. Had she kept the delusion right up until he’d called for father’s head?

 

When Arya realized that a lull in the conversation had begun to form, she quickly added, “When I was in King’s Landing, I heard rumors that father had been claiming that Joffrey wasn’t the King’s son.”

 

“If father claimed it, it probably was true. You’ve heard how father speaks of the King. It makes sense that only a Queen’s bastard would keep him from supporting the King’s rightful son,” added Robb

 

“I heard more about the rumor than that,” added Sansa cautiously.

 

“What did you hear?” asked Bran.

 

Sansa spoke of the matter cautiously, Arya noticed, as though uncertain to their truth, though suspecting that they were, “That the Queen’s children were products of... incest with her twin, the Kingslayer. That’s what Lord Stannis was claiming.”

 

“Do you think it’s true? You’d know better than either of us,” asked Bran, speaking for both himself and Arya. Arya gave her little brother a slight nudge to remind him that she too had a tongue, and then dropped the matter to hear what Sansa had to say.

 

Sansa continued her halting manner of speech, “The Targaryeons practiced incest and often went mad, and Joffrey… he was another Aerys in the making, of that I am sure. So mayhaps it was true. The Queen’s children all looked like her.”

 

“And you, Bran, Rickon, and I all look like mother. Does that mean mother has been sleeping with Uncle Edmure?” countered Robb with a blustered look.

 

Sansa added “I know not. Mayhaps father discovered more which told him the truth. To be honest I never want to go back to King’s Landing ever again in my life! I want to stay in the North where it’s safe.”

 

“The North isn’t safe,” interjected Bran, and everyone turned to look at him.

 

Sansa however was the only one who challenged his statement, “Only because Robb took everyone and marched south to avenge father, and then went around claiming to be King in the North and of the Trident!”

 

“I did what!” interrupted Robb before Bran could answer.

 

“After father was arrested, you called his bannermen and marched South. After he was killed you then started claiming to be King in the North and of the Trident,” explained Sansa as though she were tiring of being the only one saying anything.

 

“I can understand King in the North, but why the Trident?”

 

“Riverrun was being attacked by the Lannisters, and you broke the siege and captured the Kingslayer, and the Riverlords decided that since you were the only King to lift the seige, and next in line to inherit the Riverlands after Uncle Edmure, they declared you their King” added Bran, seeing Sansa’s weary.

 

“Why were they under siege in the first place?” asked Robb

 

Sansa answered, “Because mother kidnapped Tyrion, and the Lannisters wanted vengeance.”

 

Robb asked for clarification with, “Tyrion?”

 

Arya while looking at Sansa and wondered if she should tell their older brother about Sansa’s husband, but instead simply said, “The Lannister imp.”

 

“Why would she do that?”

 

“Because Pet--Lord Baelish, had Aunt Lysa convince mother that the Lannisters had killed Uncle Jon, and…” Sansa trailed off looking to Bran.

 

“Nearly killed me. But that’s not what I was thinking of when I said the North isn’t safe,” finished Bran.

 

“Then what mean you?” asked Arya.

 

Bran spoke simply and with some gravitas, “The Others are coming.”

 

Robb nearly laughed, but to his credit contained himself, “The Others? That’s a story Old Nan told us to keep quiet in the winters.”

 

Bran looked incensed at the implication, and before Arya could stop him he nearly tackled their older brother down the steps of the tower as he said, “I was attacked by their wights! They are very much real! They’re the important threat--not the Lannisters or anyone else.” Bran then seemed to gain control of himself once again and continued by saying, “We have to keep father in the North so that we can have a chance to stop them, before the overrun the Wall. But make no mistake, even if we do keep him from going south, the North is not safe. We need to be on our guard.”

 

Robb stared at Bran, as if seeing him for the first time before saying, “So then we do everything we can to keep father from going south. You said he did not want to at first, what changed his mind?”

 

“I think it was finding the direwolf dead that might have made him change his mind,” suggested Arya as she thought back to that point that at once hadn’t happened yet, and yet had happened what felt like ages ago.

 

Robb turned to her and asked, “The direwolf in our kennels?”

 

“Aye. You found her actually, dead by the road in some late summer snow,” added Bran.

 

“But how did that change father’s mind?” asked Robb

 

“There was a stag’s antler lodged in her throat, and her pups nursing at her dead corpse. Everyone said it was a sign,” said Bran as his memory of that day flitted through his memory.

 

“But now that the beast’s in our kennels--so father might not be convinced to go south.”

 

Sansa, Arya, and Bran winced at hearing the direwolf being called a beast.

 

Sansa then broke in, “I think not it was the direwolf that did it though. Father’s never put much trust in signs. Like you said, Robb, he doesn’t believe in something unless he sees the proof right in front of him, staring him in the eyes… And the more I think about it, I think it was Aunt Lysa’s letter that changed his mind...”

 

Robb rebounded with, “But you already told him that Lord Baelish is manipulating Aunt Lysa.”

 

Sansa responded rhetorically, “But did he believe me?”

 

“He might after he sees that letter,” suggested Robb

 

Sansa however saw it differently, “But then he still might go south to try and expose Lord Baelish. You know not what he’s like, he thinks twelve moves in advance, and considers all possibilities. Once he knew that father was on to him, and father’s not exactly the most subtle of people, he’d probably pay someone off to kill father and make it look like the Lannisters or someone else did it.”

 

“But we could kill Baelish,” suggested Arya.

 

Bran insisted, “No, we need to keep father in the North, looking at the danger beyond the wall. If he can learn about the Others, then I think not anything would drag him south.”

 

Sansa challenged, “How can we do that though? I mean if he doesn’t believe us now, he certainly won’t believe us when we tell him about that!”

 

“I know not, but I’m going to try and find a way.” resolved Bran.


	27. Robb V

**ROBB V**

 

As the day continued, Robb found himself distracted by his thoughts. In the future that was, he had been a King, not just of the North, but of the Riverlands as well! But the way Sansa had spoken, it sounded as though that hadn’t been a good thing--but how could it not have been a good thing? Well, besides father dying--but maybe he could save father AND be King.

 

It was then that Emrik, Ser Rodrik’s eldest squire delivered a hard blow to Robb’s right side with his practice sword, jarring Robb back from his thoughts as he felt the wind get knocked out of him.

 

“Keep your focus, boy!” scolded Ser Rodrik.

 

In two years I could be your King--Robb wanted to say, but he didn’t, seeing instead the wisdom in the old white beard’s words. After all, a dead King did no one any good.

 

Robb wasn’t surprised later when he visited Jon that Arya was there to greet him.

 

“Has he woken up yet?” asked Robb as he pulled up a small stool, one of the few pieces of furniture in the room, next to where Arya sat on Jon’s bed.

 

“No. Father, Rickon, and Sansa have visited though.”

 

“And Bran’s been busy fighting with Mytan. How long have you been here? I didn’t see you at the midday meal.” added Robb

 

“I want to be here when he wakes up.”

 

“Why?” asked Robb

 

“I’ve got something I need to tell him.”

 

“Like what?”

 

Arya gave Robb a glare as if to tell him that it wasn’t any of his business, but Robb simply smiled and said, “He’s my brother too you know. You own him not just because you both share the Stark look.”

 

“It’s about his mother.”

 

At news of this Robb remembered what he had heard only two days earlier from Jon’s mouth:

 

_I’m just a product of our father’s sleeping with a salt wife to him. I can’t go to the brothels, less I accidentally sleep with my mother!_

 

Robb sighed before asking, “Well, are you just going to spring it on him, or are you going to tell him about how you found out?”

 

Arya didn’t respond to Robb. Which meant that she had not considered thinking that far ahead.

 

“I mean you cannot say something to that effect without some kind of explanation. As far as he knows now, you’re just regular old Arya. How could it be that you heard about this at Winterfell in the nine years you’ve been here, when he’s been here for much longer and discovered nothing?”

 

“I could say I heard father whisper her name at his bedside.”

 

“Did you hear it from father in the future?”

 

Arya shook her head.

 

“Then I wouldn’t go putting words in father’s mouth that he did not say.”

 

Ary insisted, “But he deserves to know!”

 

“I agree, but first, let’s tell him about the future.”

 

Arya scoffed, “You know not what happens.”

 

Robb gave her a chiding look, “Because certain people are not speaking their minds.”

 

This did not seem to affect Arya one bit.

 

“Did I make a good King?” asked Robb as he pulled himself closer to her.

 

Arya spoke without looking at him, almost as if she didn’t really consider him to be truly in the room, “I know not. I was... away from you.”

 

“Well, what did you hear?”

 

Arya sighed before saying “You were a good leader of men in battle. They called you the Young Wolf.”

 

“So I was a good King.”

 

Robb could tell Arya seemed to be holding back some stronger emotion from coming through, by the way her breath trembled as she said, “For a time, I guess.”

 

Robb was confused, “What mean you by that?”

 

Arya met his eyes and with a rage he had never known her capable of before, said “Never trust a Frey.”

 

It was then that felt rather uncomfortable in the room, and so he left it to Arya. He didn’t know exactly what the Freys had to do with anything, but he could surmise it was nothing good. When Robb returned to his room he found a surprise visitor there awaiting him.

 

“Theon…”


	28. Catelyn III

**CATELYN III**

 

Waking up with Ned at her side was something Catelyn found to be soothing. Even with all the troubles that they might face--Kings, secrets, nephews, treason, for the time all seemed bearable with Ned there by her. Unfortunately such a comfort could not last all day, and soon she was re-immersed in the troubles of the day. The kennel master spoke with her about needing to have the hunters increase their yield to feed the direwolf that had taken up residence in the kennels. Ned had told her of the children’s attempt to corral the wolf for its pups, explaining Bran’s… gift… in the process. So Catelyn decided to avoid the kennels for the time being until the wolf was released with her pups back into the Wolfswood.

 

So once her duties came to a halt, Catelyn had meant to spend the day with her babe. Rickon however seemed to have decided to set up camp outside of the wolf’s pen and so she looked for Bran after he had finished his swordplay for the day--eventually finding him praying in the Godswood. Bran knelt in front of the heart tree, speaking in a voice so quiet Catelyn could see his lips move but hear no voice in the unearthly quiet of the Godswood. Catelyn watched her son in his devotions. He’d never been so interested in his religon before this, Catelyn noted.

 

“Are you praying for guidance?”

 

“Aye.”

 

“About your… gift?”

 

Bran did not answer her.

 

“What are the words? I’ll help you pray.”

 

“There are no chants, you simply ask for what you need.”

 

“Are the old gods so simple then? No wonder your father keeps them.”

 

And Catelyn spent a quiet hour with her son, asking his gods for him to receive guidance in the… gift… he had been bestowed. When they had finished, Bran hugged and thanked her, and Catelyn felt she would remember this moment for the rest of her life.

 

When they came out of the Godswood, they found Theon Greyjoy shooting arrows with her eldest son in the practice yard. Theon seemed to be doing most of the talking, with Robb apparently troubled about something, clearly enjoying the elder's company, but unwilling for some reason to allow himself express it.

 

Catelyn noticed that Bran upon seeing her husband’s ward froze, staring at him, and so she asked, “What troubles you?”

 

Bran seemed not to notice her at first before shaking his head and saying, “Nothing, mother.”

  
Her son then departed her side without another word, and Catelyn was left to wonder what had caused such a change in her sons’ moods.

 

The evening meal passed quietly, with Robb and Theon being absent, and her four younger children obviously having some secret amongst themselves from the way they spoke with their actions. Ned excused himself early from the table, and Catelyn began to wonder if he might not know something about what was still troubling their youngest--was it only the wolf?

 

Catelyn meant to meet Ned outside of his son--nephew--Jon’s room, but when she arrived there, her husband was nowhere in sight. She checked inside Jon’s room and found Arya and Bran sitting by Jon’s side. Arya noticed the door’s opening and whatever conversation they’d been having over Jon’s unconscious side had swiftly ended. Catelyn dismissed her children to their rooms--Arya giving much argument but ultimately acquiescing after she shared a look with Bran. This left her alone with Jon. A part of Catelyn wanted to simply walk out the door, a very large part. But another reminded herself that this was her nephew, and he deserved more than she had given him in the past. So Catelyn smoothed out the blankets he was under, giving herself more of them to better tuck him in, which she did as swiftly as she should. She looked upon Jon in that moment and saw the small boy who had the pox and once again she felt guilty for being inable to feel as an Aunt to an orphaned child should. And so she left the room soon after to banish such troubling thoughts from her mind.

 

As Catelyn walked back to her chambers she passed her eldest’s room, the door to which had been carelessly left open a crack--probably because her son rarely bothered to actually make sure his doors were shut. It was because of this, Catelyn heard Bran speaking to Robb unlike she’d ever heard him speak.

 

“Trust him not, Robb. He’ll stab you in the back!”

 

Robb somehow sounded much younger than Bran when he said, “Theon hasn’t done anything yet. Mayhaps things might turn out differently this time.”

 

“Yet! Give him but the opportunity--” added Arya, whom Catelyn didn’t find herself surprised at hearing her present.

 

“Maybe he could change.”

 

“Do you want to save father or not?” charged Bran

 

Was Ned in trouble? Was Theon plotting to kill him?

 

“Of course!” replied Robb.

 

Catelyn couldn’t bare it anymore and she burst into her eldest’s room to the surprise of all three of its occupants.


	29. Sansa III

**SANSA III**

 

After escaping what clearly felt like a remedial lesson in being able to detect and align the “grain” in a piece of fabric appropriately when cutting material to make clothing, Sansa immediately hurried away to the library tower to ensconce herself for the remainder of the afternoon. She had never felt the need to visit the lonely tower at the center of the southern courtyard, which had no other entrance save the winding steps that encircled the outside of the building. From its windows, Sansa had a view of the entire courtyard and practice yard, as the library tower stood closest to the heart of the castle. This afternoon she had decided that she would help Bran in his quest. She wasn’t sure about his report about the Others returning, but if he’d been attacked by wights, mayhaps it might be that the wights and Others were separate creatures that had been misappropriately linked through the millennia? To discover this she had to see if reports of wights had ever come without there being any Others--which meant sifting through the upper shelves of the tall bookcases, on the edge of her toes on the top step of the ladder. Most of the oldest books--if they could be called that--were loose collections of paper between what looked suspiciously like animal hides bound with twine, with titles written in what almost looked like some kind of red amber. Sansa pulled one down titled, _Creturs ove thee Wyds_ , which looked promising.

 

Sansa found that it was hardly as promising as it seemed as she flipped through the pages. There were a lot of antiquated spellings and some pages the red amber ink was cracking and threatened to fall off unless she delicately turned the pages. This made her consider that someone should soon copy down these ancient texts before they were lost to time. There were many creatures both familiar and fantastic that she saw and skimmed over as she looked through the book. Sometimes she paused to admire the detailed artistry of a particular drawing. What made her pause though was when she came to an intricate drawing of a pack of direwolves, obviously hunting with a man. At first when she looked at the man drawn she thought he shared some look of father’s, except he was of a stockier build, and perhaps shorter, judging by the size of the direwolves surrounding him. But beyond that the man had the traditional Stark features of a long face, grey eyes and dark hair. The text next to the picture described the scene: _Kyng Jon ande hies packe ove Dyrewolvesse_. Sansa then looked to the next page to read the text dedicated to the “Dyrewolve”, which read as such:

 

_Thee dyrewolve isse a fiersum cretur natyve onlee tu Westeros. Bonnesse fownde suggest theye prowledd asse farr suwth asse thee shoresse ove thee Blaeckwater Russch whenn Men kam, bewt tuday arrer fownde primarilee in thee North. Furr a tyme it wasse thouhte thatte theye hadd bien huntedd tu deathe acrosse Westeros fur theyer peltsse by thee Men befure theye came tu honor thee Godsse andd thee Grienwaysse. According tu legendd a small packe wasse discoveredd in thee Wolvesse’ Wyd of thee North jusst befure thee Lownge Nyht, frum whyche alle dyrewolvesse in thee North arrer frum. Theye arrer consideredd an honour able andd loyal animelle, living primarilee in packesse lyke theyere smaller cousinsse, thouh a few lonne dyrewolvesse have bien knownne tu be fownde frum tyme tu tyme. Theye arrer cummonlee believedd tu be morrer intelligent than theyere smaller cousinsse. Sume kan furm special bondsse whithe Men descendedd frum Islemen, whyche isse knownne in thee Grienway asse wargsse. It isse knownne thatte onne out of onne thousandd men descendedd frum a single Isleman isse bornne a warg. It hasse bien proposedd in thee casse of sume descendentsse of Islemen who intergmarree, thatte morrer wargsse arrer lykelee tu appear. Tu developpe thisse ability it isse saidd thatte a man andd dyrewolve musst awakkenne whithein themselvesse a trusst frum whyche a packe bondd. Iffe a packe bondd isse interruptedd orre cut short befure it hasse fullee maturedd, thisse kan negativelee affect both man andd wolve--possiblee leading tu maednesse, problemsse warging, losse of empathee, andd lonne wolve beehaviorre._

 

Sansa immediately felt that the gods--old and new--had led her to this information. After seeing it she knew it was vitally important and so she had to find a scroll of some sort and some ink and copy it down. After having done so, she carefully closed the book and returned it to its spot and hurried out the library tower to try and find Bran, completely forgetting why she had come to the library tower in the first place. However as she came close the foot of the stairs, she heard her father call to her. He met her at the last step of the stairwell.

 

“Father, have you seen Bran?” asked Sansa

 

“Last I saw him, he was in the practice yard. Sansa! I have a question that I might ask of you.”

 

“Aye?”

 

“Do you know when Lysa will… well, you understand…”


	30. Eddard IV

**EDDARD IV**

 

After retreating to the older part of the courtyard near the entrance to the crypts so that they might speak alone, Eddard found his daughter was quite clear of what she knew. Sansa could tell him people, actions, and reasons, but not the timing. After he had thoroughly questioned her on the subject, he was then questioned by Sansa herself.

 

Sansa looked up at him and asked hesitatingly, “Do you believe us then, Father?”

 

Eddard did not answer at first. He wanted to believe her, but if he accepted the idea how could he explain it? No that wasn’t the important thing. What mattered was that Jon Arryn, the man who’d raised him to be a man, would be safe. It had taken him a dream to realize just what Sansa had threatened to use as proof for him. In the dream his family--both Stark and Tullys--had sat at a banquet table with the Arryns and watched as Lysa Arryn poured poison in the golden chalices that Jon, himself, Catelyn, Robb, his nephew, and even Robert her own sickly child drank from. And despite seeing her pour the poison they had all drank the wine in his dream toasting to the health of Lysa who then transformed into a bird and took flight only to be struck down by an arrow. The dream had troubled him and made him truly consider what Sansa had said in his solar. Was his second father truly worth the price of having such proof of her story? Could he even chance that? Why hadn’t he thought of this before? The answer came as quickly as the question had: his mind had been too concerned with escaping the room and his worries about Catelyn to think straight. In fact he still couldn’t abide staying cooped up for long in a room. He needed to be outside, and he found walking the courtyard to be relaxing, but today even that proved slightly irritating due to the walls that seemed taller and more imposing than they had yesterday.

 

Eddard banished such thoughts from his head. He had to focus, for Jon’s sake if not his own. There were other ways to get proof, he now realized, and so he began by asking, “Tell me, Sansa, how did you come to know your Aunt?”

 

Sansa seemed to lose herself in her thoughts as much as he had before answering “I lived with her for a time in the Eyrie after Lord Baelish married her.”

 

That was it! If she had truly been to the Eyrie she could describe it. He hardly spoke of his time in the Eyrie to his children, for though it had been a happy time of his life, there had been little need to speak of it, as he figured most parents found their childhoods. “Tell me about the Eyrie. If you’ve truly been there, I will know. And since I know you’ve never visited there in your life up until now, if you can tell me of the Eyrie now, I shall have no reason not to believe you.”

 

“Ah, but I could have read about it in a book,” chimed Sansa with a slight scoff in response, as if foreseeing his doubts.

 

“There are some things about castles that one can’t read in books. Speak to me of the Eyrie, and I will know.”

 

“Is all you want to hear is of how utterly lonely a place it is? Of how the wind whistles its way around its beautiful seven tall white towers, creating a moaning sound that is heard day and night throughout its halls and rattling the Moon door so that it sounds as though all the dead who have been pushed through threaten to rise once more and seek vengeance. It is as empty as tomb. There is no comfort there. The gods are silent, both old and new, and they answer no prayers. How can they when there’s a Sept but no Septon… and a godswood but no heart tree?”

 

Eddard knew at once. As he breathed slightly deeper he used the technique to try and hold back his first memories of that castle he had had before truly befriending Robert. There was no way she could not have been there and known its atmosphere with such clarity.

 

“I’m sorry for doubting you.”

 

It was after that that Eddard returned to his solar to write two messages. The first one was addressed to Robert asking him to make Jon Snow his legitimate son and entitled to the Stark name, with the condition he inherit anything after all his childrens’ unlikely demise. He would require at some point for Eddard to visit King’s Landing to explain the matter further likely, but at least for now, the matter was open for discussion.

 

The second message Eddard wrote was addressed to Jon Arryn. In it he expressed a great desire to have their families together, should the King permit it. And if Jon himself could not come, he made reference of the fact that his son’s cousins expressed a fervent desire to meet him, and he expressed how Catelyn missed her sister greatly--which she did, Eddard knew. He also offered that should Winterfell prove to be amenable to the boy, that he would be honored to foster the boy as Jon had done for himself in the Eyrie--hoping to perhaps begin a tradition between their two houses to last long into the future. Lastly his letter to Jon turned to an oblique warning about some recent news he’d heard about the recent decline in the quality of wine imported through Gulltown by Lord Baelish, suggesting a taste tester with a good palate to determine its quality. The warning was coded, but Eddard knew Jon would immediately see to its true meaning, and to anyone else who might get their hands on the letter, it would seem a meaningless little passage in an otherwise familial letter.

 

Eddard hoped that by removing Jon’s murderer he could avoid giving her the opportunity. He just hoped he was sending it in time.

 

After the evening meal, Eddard returned to Jon’s room to see if he had yet awakened, but he hadn’t. Arya had walked with him to the room.

 

“I told the Septa that you were excused today from your lessons, but I did not mention anything about tomorrow.”

 

“I must be here when he wakes,” insisted Arya, without looking up.

 

“Do you have something important to tell him, then?”

 

“Mayhaps,” she said shifting her shoulders so that his hand slipped off.

 

And knowing that he’d hardly get anything else out of her without prompting an argument, Eddard left it at that. It felt too warm in Jon’s room, and he felt the need to walk out in the cool evening air. As he walked in the moonlight he found his way once again leading him to the kennels where he came upon the penned up direwolf mother, looking despondent within her pen. She tried to rise when he approached, but her leg was still too weak to support her and so she fell and returned to her moping.


	31. Bran V

**BRAN V**

 

When their mother burst into Robb's room, Bran, Arya, and even Robb were all taken aback by her demanding question, "What is Theon planning to do to your father?"

 

The three of them each shared a look before even attempting to speak on the subject. Robb, started to say something but Arya was the one who gained their mother's attention, and that of Bran and Robb's by saying, "He's plotting to kill father."

 

"Arya, do you know what you're saying?" asked their mother with a distressed look.

 

Arya was definitive in her response, "I do, and it's the truth."

 

At this Bran could see their mother was hardly convinced by Arya's simple proclamation, and so decided to embellish his sister's story a bit.

 

"I'm the one who found out about it." Pausing for dramatic effect, Bran then sighed and said, "He's been secretly writing his father for a few months. I found one of his letters. That's how I found out about it. His father's disowned him in favor of his sister--which Theon takes as an insult. His father says if he wants what is his, he needs to make the Starks pay the 'Iron price' for killing his brothers, and take Winterfell." Their mother appeared to be in utter shock at this revelation. Robb, having finished starring in shock at Arya, now looked at Bran as if he didn’t know him, and Bran mentally agreed--Robb didn’t know him at all.Theon was a danger to the family, if left to his own devices. He'll attack Winterfell given the chance--all of this was true as it had already happened and was likely to happen again. Theon deserved whatever he got.

 

Their mother raised her eyebrow in suspicion, “How do you know he’s agreed to this? Thus far all plotting is Balon’s.”

 

“Have you forgotten? He almost killed Rickon! If Bran hadn’t been in that direwolf, he might have shot him.”

 

Their mother seemed greatly affected by this reminder, which was only confirmed when she asked,“If what you say is true, then why haven’t you spoken about this with your father?”

 

“He won’t listen. He still thinks of Theon as though he were my age,” explained Arya

 

Bran then added for good measure, “And besides we want to catch him in the act! Then there’s no denying he’s a turncloak!”

 

“You could help us take care of him...” suggested Arya.

 

“You two are just children. It isn’t your place to catch anyone in any act,” scolded their mother. She then signed and said, “I’m going to take care of this.” And then she left the room.

 

Once their mother had left, and the door was shut, Robb stared at them both with a look that a few years ago might’ve shamed Bran into a submissive guilt, but now only served to expose how ridiculous Robb looked making the face.

 

“That was not honorable, either of you!”

 

“Honor is a luxury of a summer’s peace. What use is it when you have no idea where you’ll get your next meal? And what becomes of the last honorable man? He dies.”

 

Having said her say, Arya then left the room, presumably to return to Jon’s room.

 

“You believe not that rubbish, do you?” asked Robb.

 

Bran only said, “Robb, we’re not the Bran and Arya you once knew. They’re long gone.”

 

Bran didn’t say anything else. He could hardly believe that Robb, his older brother, could sound so naive. And so he too left his supposedly older sibling and he returned to Jon’s room to seek out Arya. He found Arya had done as he’d suspected, only now she was laying down next to Jon, as though she were trying to nestle herself by his side. As he entered, Arya’s head shot up almost immediately and her eyes met his, relaxing upon seeing him. Bran could see she’d been crying, but had recently wiped her tear-stained cheeks to rid her of any lasting evidence. Bran said nothing, instead choosing to sit down on the other side of Jon across from his sister. And then tentatively he reached over the thin mounds that were Jon’s legs and he hugged his sister, allowing them both to cry. Neither said a word, instead simply choosing to let the other have someone to hold onto and cry. After they had cried themselves out, Bran found himself too tired to return to his own room, so he emulated his elder sister buy falling asleep at Jon’s other side, curling up as much as she could into his brother’s side.

 

That night, Bran had a dream. In it an old man of the Night’s Watch without any ears knelt before a block at the foot of Winterfell’s Heart Tree, before half the castle. As he spoke, his breath formed into small ice men, who grew tall and intimidating and began to kill indiscriminately. Some part of Bran knew these strangely beautiful but deadly monsters. Were these the Others? Suddenly his father swung his sword and blood gushed from the wound, tinto the foot of the heart tree, and the strangest thing of all occurred. It began to grow.


	32. Robb VI

_298 AL - The Fifth Day_

 

**ROBB VI**

 

Robb needed Jon to wake up now. He shouted as much to his little brother’s still sleeping body when he had luckily found Arya absent the following day from the room. And soon Robb found himself talking to Jon as if he were awake, finding it oddly comforting to do so.

 

“You were always better with them than I was. I’ve always counted that just being the eldest would be enough for me...”

 

“Mother didn’t believe me when I tried to tell her this morning that it was all a lie. Before I could even finish explaining, she scrunched up her face and said, ‘Bran would never lie.’ Of course, her precious Bran never would... and yet he did, right to her face. And as far as I can tell he doesn’t regret it one bit. Father didn’t even want to speak to me this morning… as soon as he broke his fast he was out of the Great Hall and into the courtyard. And when I tried to track him down, I heard he and Jory had taken their horses and went out for a ride in the Wolfswood. Mother doesn’t believe me, Father doesn’t seem to care about any of it, and our little brothers and sisters try every way they can to get rid of Theon. If they’re not careful they’re going to actually turn Theon into the very thing they say he is. I know he’s capable of turning his cloak, I guess I have to freely admit that, but there’s a difference between might and have.”

 

“Most of all, though, I simply can’t believe they lied like that! I think you would not believe it either if you were awake… at least I hope you would. Either way you’d at least know what to say.”

 

Robb left his last words hang in the air, hoping they might somehow tempt Jon out of his long slumber to answer him. But they did not.

 

Not too long after that, the door to the room opened and Robb turned his head to find his sister Sansa standing in the doorway.

 

As she entered she asked, “Any change?”

 

“N-no” was Robb’s only response.

 

Sansa then crossed the room and sat on Jon’s bed, brushing his dark hair from his face. “He looks so much younger when he’s asleep. I believe it is due to him not having to hold such serious a countenance.”

 

“Aye, he loses at least three years,” Robb conceded

 

Sansa then abruptly stood, sighing as she said, “But when he wakes, they all come flooding back--no matter how he may appear otherwise.”

 

Robb got the impression that they weren’t just talking about Jon now.

 

“I know it’s hard to understand, Robb, that we still look the same, but aren’t. It’s just something you’re going to have to make your peace with.”

 

“I’m not Rickon, so speak not to me that way!” growled Robb, indignant at her condescension.

 

“I know not about that! Ofttimes you resemble him even better than he does himself. At least he’d hear me through to the end.” And as Sansa was about to cross the threshold, she stopped, turned, and said, “Oh one other thing, Mother’s locked Theon in his rooms. I thought you should know.”


	33. Eddard V

EDDARD V

There was something about the forest that was thrilling, Eddard didn’t know what it was about it, but he attributed it to being something he’d never considered before: he could galop his horse for miles without having to stop. There was something to the rush of the chase that riled his blood. He had meant to come alone--there was just something about that which attracted him to the experience, but Jory had insisted on accompanying him, citing that there must be other direwolves (how else did the bitch get with pups, after all), some less friendly, as well as the potential for Wildlings. Eddard endured the younger man’s company, but secretly wished that he and his mount didn’t have to wait for him to constantly catch up. When they had reached a tiny creek, Eddard let his horse rest and drink while he jumped off and simply took in the forest--its sights, smells, and sounds all somehow delighting him like they ne’er had before. Jory soon caught up and allowed his old nag to follow the example of his hunter.

It was here that Jory mentioned the need to return to Winterfell, so as to not miss the midday meal. This jarred Eddard out of his reverie. Had they truly been out riding all morning?! He’d only meant to have a short ride and to return to hear petitions as Warden. With utmost haste they returned to Winterfell through the Hunter’s Gate. As he entered the gate, a stable hand was there to greet him and take his and Jory’s mount back to the stables. As he dismounted he spoke with the man.

“What news?” asked Eddard

“‘Tis not much, milord. Greyjoy has taken ill and Lady Stark has confined to in his room, but beyond that we have passed a quiet morning.”

This was news to Eddard. “Ill? How did he become ill so quickly?”

“All I know milord is he woke up late this morning and was retching out his window. Damn near hit me too!”

“Thank you, Daren.”

It was then that Eddard felt small arms wrap around his left leg. He looked down to see Rickon there, and he smiled slightly at the sight.

“Papa, I was worried that you had left!”

Ned replied with a bit of good-humor, “Have I worried you thus? My apologies, pup.”

Ned however found that Rickon was reluctant at best to leave his side as he continued on into the Great Keep. When he came to Theon’s room he found Maester Luwin leaving it. The bald older man looked greatly troubled, which Eddard didn’t take too well.

“What do you believe is wrong with Theon?” asked Eddard.

As he spoke, Luwin tugged at his tight choker of a chain unconsciously, “I would say that he ate something which has upset his humors, and his body is trying to correct it as best it can. He’s purged his excess bile, but now he has a quick pulse and a slight fever. I’m going to have to bleed him.”

Eddard bit his lip before he asked, “What do you think he could have eaten?”

Maester Luwin smiled ruefully and gave half an attempt to laugh, but it died and turned into a sigh before he said, “That’s the thing that worries me. When I looked through his bile, there wasn’t anything in it that hasn’t been eaten by anyone else. Truth is, we might all be sick and Theon is simply the first to show the symptoms.”

Eddard felt sick already at hearing the man’s suspicions. “I’ll speak with the cook later. Perhaps this is simply due to some moldy meat… One last question, if we’re all potentially sick, then why has Catelyn confined Theon?”

“I haven’t told her of my suspicions yet. I had wanted to wait until you had returned before doing so. You may mention it to her if you wish. She’s in there at the moment with Robb, if you wish to speak with her.”

Eddard nodded. He then asked Luwin if Jon had awaken yet, and the he shook his head, mumbling that Jon may have had an unforeseen reaction to the dreamwine and milk of the poppy taken together. It wasn’t completely rare, but it wasn’t a typical reaction either, and Eddard accepted the man’s explanation. He then allowed Maester Luwin to continue on his way. Before entering Theon’s room, Eddard told Rickon that he should go outside, but the boy refused to leave him, and Eddard, thinking his pup likely sick already, dropped the matter before it provoked him. He told Rickon that while he was in the room with Theon he was to behave himself, and made him swear it on his honor as a Stark--which the toddler very seriously agreed to, after some reluctance.

When Eddard entered Theon’s room he found Catelyn suspiciously rifling through some pieces of parchment on the boy’s desk. Theon was in his bed, as flushed as Luwin had described him, and apparently was out cold judging by Catelyn’s behavior.

“Does Theon have to wake up and tell you himself for you to believe it? Bran and Arya were lying to you!” insisted Robb as Eddard entered the room.

“Ned!” exclaimed Catelyn, freezing as though caught in the act.

“What are you doing, Cat?”


	34. Luwin

**LUWIN**

 

As Luwin returned from the Maester’s Turret with his blood-letting bag, he pondered the past few eventful days. He’d been called upon more times in these past few days in his role as physician than he cared to keep record of. It all marked him as a rather strange series of incidents, seeming to build on top of one another. He hoped that this sickness that had befallen Theon would be the end of it, but for all he knew it could yet grow worse.

 

He did not suspect the boy had been poisoned--he had none of the common symptoms--but a nagging feeling told him that the continued lack of any other person having gotten ill bespoke of nothing else. Mayhaps he had drank something? But as far as he knew they all shared the same water and ale and from what he had seen, the boy had no private reserves in his own room. It was all so very strange, to suddenly become ill like this never bode well.

 

So lost in thought was Luwin that he failed to notice the young Arya bump into him at the entrance to the Great Keep, knocking the case open and the all of the materials to fall out, which included his knife, a jar of leeches, a clean roll of cloth, and a shaving basin. She didn’t apologize for the action but instead offered without prompting to help him recover and gather the strewn about objects.

 

Luwin found the delay a bit of a nuisance, but after appropriately reminding the girl to watch where she was going, he entered the Great Keep and as he took to the steps he heard the last of Lady and Lord Stark’s conversation--who had apparently stepped outside of the room to speak.

 

“And why do you only tell me this now?” demanded Lady Stark.

 

“So that you may try to understand why our children might be inclined to lie where Theon is concerned. I know it’s a tremendous lot to accept, but--” and it was there that Luwin’s presence was acknowledged with silence.


	35. Eddard VI

**EDDARD VI**

 

It was after the evening meal when he once again he had his children in his solar, this time Catelyn joining the proceeding. She had been loathe to accept the truth from him, but she’d entertain the idea until further proof could be obtained, and the only way to do that was to get the four youngest to speak. She held Rickon in her arms from the chair she’d chosen for herself, trying to calm the fussy toddler, whose worry for Ned had long since passed and his desire to be near the wolf having returned. The only difference from the earlier scene mirrors reflected candlelight now though as the sun was setting. He would have it all out--with them all present, excepting Jon unfortunately. Robb skulked in a corner near a window while his middle three stood before himself and Catelyn.

 

He got right to the point once they’d all assembled from the quiet evening meal, “Bran, Arya, why did you lie to your mother?”

 

Bran for his credit didn’t meet either himself or Cat in the eye, and chose instead the route of silence. Of Arya the same could not be said.

 

“Does it truly matter now?” asked Arya

 

Ned growled, “You are a Stark, of course it matters! It is wrong and you both shall apologize to your mother.”

 

Neither said anything, which shocked Ned. They truly believed they were in the right, and to this effect, Bran finally quietly added, “The only lie was about the letter, the rest is based in truth.”

 

“From this future you believe you’re from?” asked Catelyn pointedly.

 

“Aye, it is,” answered Bran honestly.

 

Ned held back his anger, and countered, “And yet you did not think to come to us about this?”

 

“You didn’t believe us before,” was Bran’s simple answer.

 

Ned heard Cat breathe deeply at the mention of this. She did not blame him from not telling her something he truly hadn’t believed himself at first, but she still seemed troubled by the issue nonetheless. He couldn’t begrudge her her little faults--gods knew he had them.

 

There was the rub of it though. They acted upon their knowledge because he had doubted. They nearly had succeeded in killing Theon--thank the gods that Maester Luwin was at his work. If the boy died now… there would be a second Greyjoy Rebellion, of that he had no doubt. Reports that the Iron Fleet had nearly been rebuilt had been whispered about from the Mormont’s spies upon the Iron Isles and reached his ears. Theon needed to live, there was no way around it. There would be no hope of Lysa setting foot in the North if it were at war, and then Jon would…

 

And that’s when Ned realized that he too was acting upon knowledge and was manipulating events. But he was doing it to save lives, not take them. And he must continue to do so.

 

“Sansa convinced me of the truth later.” explained Ned, he then turned to his eldest daughter and asked, “did not you tell them?”

 

Sansa replied “To speak plainly, I…” and she paused to fleetingly catch Arya’s eye, Ned noticed before finishing with “forgot.”

 

He knew what that look meant. “Forgot or were busy with something else?” asked Ned.

 

She looked at him and plainly told him, “I know not what you mean, father.”

 

“How did Theon fall ill so suddenly? Maester Luwin suspects it was something that he ate--but the cook assured me he’s eaten nothing that we have not eaten ourselves, and yet we aren’t sick. And if it had been the water or the ale, again we would be ill too, and yet we are not. I know from your mother and Robb that you three have taken issue with Theon--for reasons which I grant may seem justified to you--and so the answer is simple.”

 

“He’ll be dead soon, what does it matter?” asked Arya

 

“And what gave you that right to decide what the gods alone decide? Have you stopped to consider what will happen if Theon dies? As much as he is my ward, he is also Robert’s hostage to keep Balon in check. If Theon dies on my watch, what’s to stop his father from taking out his grief upon our western shores? It would be war.” said Ned, hoping they weren’t completely beyond reason.

 

His three youngest were silent, but it was Bran was the one to speak next, and he seemed to speak with a solemnity that not even Jon could match, “War would come anyway and death is a mercy compared to the future that awaits him.”

 

Ned felt a chill run down his spine at his son’s words. Just what things had his children seen and endured? Catelyn however who replied, “The future, you hide behind it as your shield and yet never speak of it. That ends now.”

 

“Cat--” began Ned, hoping to curb her building rage.

 

“No! You might be frightened into belief on their dark words, but they haven’t convinced me of anything. If they’re going to act out based upon what knowledge they know, then we should all know.”

 

But before any of his children could respond, Ned felt a terrible pain sweep through his body and he heard the wolf howl.


	36. Jon III

**JON III**

 

He stood in Winterfell alone. All around him in the courtyard, snow hung about the ruined castle now a shell of what it had once been. Everything was deathly silent, so that he only heard himself breathe and the snow fall. Unable to believe what he saw, began to explore what was left of the castle. The only thing that remained unchanged, oddly enough was the Broken Tower. The roof to the Great Hall had caved in, the Great Keep had been reduced to rubble, and the Throne of Winter was covered in snow; but the Broken Tower remained as he remembered it. Just then he heard the cawing of a crow and looked up to see a sight he never expected to see staring back at him: a three-eyed crow.

 

The bird stared at him for a moment before taking flight soaring about the courtyard before landing at the destroyed rubble that had been the entrance to the crypts. It cawed once more and then flew down into the crypt. Jon felt compelled to follow, and so he stumbled down the snow covered stairs into the crypts. Once inside he oddly felt warm, and he turned around to see that the snow covered steps had disappeared. He turned around again and jumped in surprise to see the three-eyed crow staring at him directly in his face from the perch of a statue Jon now stood in front of. He recognized the statue, it was that of his Aunt Lyanna, but unlike the statue he remembered, this had become painted so that it almost looked alive, and a wreath of winter roses now sat atop it. Just then the statue grabbed his shoulders tightly, the cold painted stone chilling him to the bone. And suddenly Jon heard the statue speak,its mouth cracking open with a horrible sound of splitting stone. And through it all he heard it say in a woman’s voice “Promise me, Ned.” And that was when Jon awoke.

 

When Jon awoke he was alone. But then most of his life he’d been alone in his room, so this wasn’t so necessarily unexpected. It still would have been nice to have woken up and had someone in the room with him, but that might have been expecting too much.

 

His head ached like none other, and he felt sore and bruised all over, but beyond this he felt rather fine for having been thrown from a horse. He was starved, that was one thing he was sure of. With some trouble he dressed himself and left his room. As he walked across the dusk-lit courtyard to the kitchens, Jon recalled why he and Robb had gone into the Wolfswood in the first place, and he ruefully thought Theon was probably already halfway to Pyke by this point. There’d be no catching him now. He’d failed Bran and Rickon, and that is why he was forgotten and alone—because of his failures.

 

When he came into the kitchen he found it busy with activity of cleaning up after the evening meal. No one took notice of his entrance immediately, and he did his best to fade into the background as he slipped into the pantry. Once inside he found a bushel of apples, one of which he picked up and shone before taking a bite. It wasn’t much, but while he felt like eating, everything else seemed to turn his stomach to look at it. So the apple satiated his hunger for now. Jon slipped out of the pantry as easily as he had slid in. He finished the apple and tossed the core as high as he could over the inner wall. He heard it splash as it landed in the moat.

 

Where was everyone? He had yet to see any of his siblings or his father for that matter, and that worried him. Had something happened to them while he had slept? Had they abandoned the castled because of Theon’s escape? It was then he heard an odd noise come from the kennel, the sound of a wolf. What was a wolf doing in Winterfell? He hazily recalled being attacked by such a beast in the forest. Had it made its way into the castle? Jon immediately went to the kennels to discover the truth. As he came near he heard the wolf howl again--it’s lonely cry ringing out over the night. After entering the kennel door he passed rows of pens with many whimpering dogs, some barking at his approach or in response to the wolf’s cry. The wolf’s howl came from a pen at the end of the kennel, in the far corner from its entrance. And there he found squatting and panting was the wolf. Jon was taken aback by its size and believed it upon sight to be the beast that had attacked him. But what was it doing here?

 

It howled for a third time, and Jon watched as a small thin sac covered object dropped from the wolf and to the floor, where immediately the wolf took to licking and nipping at until the sac itself was eaten by the mother, leaving behind a small blind white creature which whimpered and moved its tiny arms and legs without purpose. The wolf was whelping a litter. The wolf then collapsed to its side, still continuing to pant and nuzzled the newborn pup to its side where it searched for a teat and found one to suckle.

 

This process repeated a second time, this time producing a gray pup, before someone else came to see the cause of the commotion. It was then that Jon saw his father enter the kennel, looking haggard and weary. His froze when he saw Jon, and then a relieved smile crept upon his face. Jon was scooped up into what was possibly the warmest embrace of his life from his father, followed soon after by his siblings. And even if it was just for a moment, Jon did not feel as alone.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for Alternate History.com as a time line story, as such it involves the useage of an AH.com trope: the Alien Space Bat (ASB) to conduct the mental time traveling (there referred to as an ISOT--Island in a Sea Of Time) of the four youngest Starks back in time. Why the four youngest Starks? Think about the characters at the end of A Dance with Dragons. ;)


End file.
